


Canon-gap ficlets

by Katbelle



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Canon Compliant, Canon patches, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Doomed Relationship, F/M, Fate, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Inheritance, Jewish Holidays, Literary Reference, Literature, Love Letters, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Memories, Multi, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Canon, Repressed Memories, Rescue, Romance, Sibling Love, Siblings, Tragedy, plot holes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/pseuds/Katbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets that are supposed to fill the giant gaps in canon.</p><p><strong>NEW:</strong> snippet #6, <strong>The first Christmas</strong>: In December 1962, the fledgling Brotherhood spends the holiday season in Panama. With Raven realising what she's missing this Christmas and Erik not knowing what to do about it, Angel tries to save the holiday spirit for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have a lot of head!canon that consists of little snippets rather than full, plotty stories, I decided to post short stories that tell a certain part of a character's history. This is going to be 100% canon-friendly and I will attempt to at least try and fix some of the plot holes. Also, I will draw from comic!canon, but it will be twisted to fit with within the movie!canon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Cerebro is built. Magneto draws a line he doesn't want to cross and everyone suffers because of that.

**Broken**

It doesn't end after Cuba. They wish it did, but it doesn't - it can't and logically, they know that. There are too few of them and one day a need will arise. An enemy common to both of their teams will appear and all the hurt and disappointment, betrayal and distrust will have to be shelved. In the name of the greater good.

But it happens much sooner than they expected. Not even two years passed after the Beach Incident when Magneto appears in the grand hall of the mansion in a puff of sulfur-smelling smoke, Mystique in tow. Sean's shriek is the only greeting they get before Mystique's small smile and Magneto's confidence are a bit wavered by Hank's growl and Alex's clenched fists, and the general air of hostility.

If Charles has sensed his sister's arrival, he decides not to comment on anything.

"What do you want?" Hank asks.

They've been working hard on improving the mansion's security, but in their desire to make this house safe for Charles - because God, after everything, he deserved that at least - they've forgotten that Magneto had a teleporter for whom getting inside seemed like no problem at all. On Hank's left, Alex trembles with fury. He doesn't understand this for what it really is; a violation of their privacy, a cruelty aimed at them - at Charles - but also, in a strange way, a statement of good will. This just proves that it wasn't anything Hank and Alex and Sean have done that kept Er-- Magneto away. He could have waltzed in the mansion months ago. He didn't.

Hank wishes it meant that Magneto was giving them a message. _I mean you no harm_.

"I need to find a mutant."

Alex snorts.

"And what do you think we can do? Draw you a map? Pull guidelines out of our asses?"

"If I remember correctly, your telepath is much more powerful than mine." Hank feels a shiver go through his body, a shiver that isn't his exactly. Charles is using him to listen in on the conversation, of course. "Also, I was led to believe that you are in possession of blueprints of a very fine mutant-tracking device."

"Just the blueprints," Hank says bitterly. He and Charles, they've talked about rebuilding Cerebro. But it would take time and resources, not to mention that it would be suspicious for any workers they might employ.

Magneto grins. His usually terrifying smile looks even worse under that helmet.

"Then let's build one, shall we?"

***

Somehow, they manage to work together. Even Charles takes part in the building of the machine, guiding Magneto in a quiet, subdued voice. Hank is proud of him. Maybe it's irrational and plain silly, but Hank is so proud of the professor that it literally hurts.

It took them a lot of time to pick up the pieces Erik had scattered on a Cuban beach. Some are still missing, forever lost in the sand, and the rest is being kept together by the pathetic glue-like concoction of spit and tears, belief and the boys' love. The fact that Charles doesn't fall apart again, doesn't let Magneto shatter what's left of him, means much more to Hank than he'll ever be able to properly say.

"What does Magneto want with the guy anyway?" Alex asks one day when they're sitting in the drawing room while Charles and Magneto are in the basement.

Mystique shrugs.

"He's competition," she explains. "Besides, with Charles in a wheelchair... Magneto needs a nemesis he can fight with. Someone that will be his equal."

For a moment, Hank isn't sure he's heard right.

"Don't stop yourself there, Mystique." Surprisingly, it's Sean who speaks up. Even though he still maintains the face of a young drug addict, his eyes are sharp and his voice betrays the outrage that Hank is unable to express. "Disgraceful much? How can you... how can you even say that? Charles is your _brother_ and if you're thinking less of him now then what does it say about the rest of the world?"

Mystique leaps from her armchair. If she were wearing a disguise, her skin would have rippled by now. But she's not pretending, she's her proud blue self and only Hank notices that she's shaking.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Then what did you mean?" Sean asks in a leveled voice and Hank can't help but wonder when during the past two years Sean managed to achieve this level of maturity and where does he usually keep it hidden.

"I know them, both of them, better than you ever will." She takes a breath. "Whether Magneto will acknowledge that or not, Charles is his only true partner, the perfect opposite. They're ideally matched, in all ways but one. Magneto needs someone to fight with, and I'm not talking figuratively. He needs a clear goal, someone to hunt. Charles will never be that. Magneto will never let him be that."

"And it has nothing to do with the wheelchair," Sean presses.

"Yes and no. Magneto wants to protect Charles, now even more than before. No, let me." She raises a hand when Sean makes a face and wants to cut in. "Charles is... important, I guess. But only after Cuba did Magneto realise that Charles is not... invincible. He's breakable, like the rest of us. Magneto wants to keep him safe, especially from himself. He will not fight with Charles. And that's why, in this case, Charles will never be Magneto's equal."

They accept this explanation, though it doesn't mean they like it. But it's still better than the alternative, Sean reminds them. And besides, it means that no matter what happens, Magneto will have their back. One way or another, he will help them if they'd ever need the help. He'll protect them because protecting them means he'll protect Charles as well.

***

In the end, it's Charles and Magneto who build the Cerebro together.

Magneto treats it like it's half his - it is, in a way - sometimes dropping by with ridiculous demands or real emergencies. Sometimes it feels like a truce has been called over one of the metal plates.

Hank only wishes it would have lasted longer.

***

Eventually the day comes when they have to use Cerebro to track one of their own.

Some low-level military program takes Emma Frost and Magneto wants to find her. She's vital to many of his plans and they agree to help him even though they know that saying "no" might have saved countless lives.

They find her in a covert military complex and Mystique and Magneto decide to raid it, rescue their telepath and level the building. Hank gives them to prototypes of a voice transmitter he's been working on; that was part of the agreement, they would lend the Cerebro only if they could listen in to the rescue mission. To manage the destruction, Alex joked blankly. Magneto wasn't happy, but he obliged. Mystique was perfectly indifferent.

Charles flinches every time they hear someone shout. These are not noises of a bloodbath and screaming of dying men, however, and Hank thinks that Magneto is keeping his end of the deal. No unnecessary deaths, Charles demanded.

But suddenly they hear a bang and a pained moan that can only belong to Mystique.

 _"Oh no you won't."_

Magneto does something and a third voice - a man's, Hank thinks, young man's - starts blabbing frantically in a high-pitched, scared tone.

"Erik--" Charles say quietly.

Hank risks a glance at him. He's gripping the arms of his chair and his eyes are wide open and so impossibly blue. His lip is trembling like he's fighting for control over tears.

 _"I will teach you,"_ Erik says and he's probably forgotten that they can hear him, back at the mansion. _"You will never,"_ a whimper, _"ever,"_ a broken plea, _"attack a mutant,"_ a loud, ear-piercing scream of someone gutted by their own buttons, _"again."_

The scream continues. More voices join in, quickly hushed by a swoosh of a thrown knife.

"Erik, stop!"

Charles trembles. He's biting his lower lip now and he's mindlessly staring at some point on the wall in front of him. He probably doesn't even see the wall.

 _"These men abducted one of us,"_ Erik says. It's a wonder he's heard so clearly over the screaming of several people now. _"They shot your sister. One day they will come for your students. One day they will come for_ you _."_

Hank notices the order in which Erik predicts their grim future. The worst crime is listed at the end, obviously. Priorities. Everyone needs them.

"Erik, _please_."

Charles is shaking so hard that Hank worries he might be having a seizure. His eyes are full of tears and he seems to be clinging to shreds of self-control. He's going to snap at any moment if Magneto doesn't do something to end this horrible noise.

 _"Give me one good reason to stop. Why should I stop, Charles?"_

Charles sobs now. He's crying openly for the first time since they've met all those years ago, overwhelmed by God knows how many years of bottled-up emotions. Tears are trickling down his cheeks and he doesn't even notice that, lost in his own head, in this world that he and Erik had built together and that Charles simply cannot give up.

"Because..." Charles' voice breaks at the second syllable and he chokes on the tears. Hank forces himself to look away. "Because you're breaking my heart."

The screaming stops. They hear Magneto's heavy breathing for a moment before that too disappears and the connection falls silent. He must have destroyed the prototype, Hank thinks and can't bring himself to care.

Charles doubles over and puts his hands over his head. He's still shaking and he's still weeping, unable to stop. Hank retreats from the room, decides to give him the space he needs.

***

They wait for another request, another emergency, but it never comes.

***

Years later Charles Xavier will tell Logan that Magneto helped him build Cerebro. It will imply some sort of past relationship between the two, but Hank doubts Logan's conclusions would ever come close to the truth.

Another few years after that, Logan and Hank will share a beer. Logan will tell him that he remembers two kids pestering him in a bar back when things were simple and life was easy. Two love-birds, he'll say, stinking of each other and sweet affection.

"I told them to go fuck themselves," Logan will say a bit drunkenly and a bit sadly, and Hank will know that he'd meant for the kids to go away and fuck each others' brains out.

Hank and Logan will get spectacularly drunk and will wonder what happened to those two kids who were so clearly in love.

It will take days for Hank to remember that there once was a line that Erik Lehnsherr didn't want to cross. So when Charles told him that he was breaking his heart - Erik Lehnsherr did one thing that he thought would make him protect Charles.

He left him. Again.

Hank will laugh maniacally when he'll realise what exactly happened that day. Because Charles lied.

Magneto couldn't have broken a heart that wasn't whole to start with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The origins of Cerebro 2.0 plus explanation as to why Erik never hangs out around the mansion. ;) I was in a really bad mood today and decided to watch "Becoming Jane" to further make myself miserable and yikes, all the cries. After I've listened to the last track on the OST fifteen times, this was born. Apologies.
> 
> Also, I used the opportunity to address Matthew Vaughn's infamous comment about the possible sequel. I truly believe that he didn't mean any offence and the problem with his statement is due to the poor wording. Anyone who'd ever read the comics or seen the previous movies or even the freaking cartoons (where Erik once specifically states that!) will know that Charles is Erik's equal. I think that Vaughn's comment referred to the fact that Erik would never want to actively fight against Charles - and THAT'S why he needs a new opponent. He needs someone he can toss around and kick his ass and not feel guilty at the same time.


	2. Zaprosy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex struggles with sudden leadership and getting his team away from Cuba. Unexpected help arrives in a puff of red smoke.

**Zaprosov**

"I'm gonna get you to a hospital."

Moira tries to help Charles up, Charles braces himself on Hank's arm, groans painfully and collapses. Moira's mumbling becomes truly inaudible while Hank tries to get Charles to stop moving.

"Wait, wait, don't," he addresses Moira and nulls any further action from her with a flick of his hand. "Charles, don't move, okay?"

Alex shifts awkwardly, steps from one foot to the other, and reaches out, puts his palm under Charles' head, sinks his fingers in sweat-slicked dark curls. He vaguely remembers conversations Andrew and Joanna used to have; Andrew once said something about not moving after being injured in the back, something, something about avoiding further damage to-- To something. Beast's a genius, he's gotta know the same shit Andrew did.

"Oh Go-- I can't-- Actually, I can't--" Charles pauses and takes a shallow breath. He's gathering courage to say whatever it is he wants to say and Alex suddenly has a very bad feeling. "I-- I, ah... I can't feel my legs."

Sean's eyes widen comically and even Hank has to look away from Charles' face. Alex is sure he's gaping. How is this even possible? Charles wasn't hurt by that goddamn maniac and his wildly flying bullets, no blood whatsoever was a clear proof of that. So how... But, _oh_ , there was something, Alex remembers from long ago, Andrew telling him over a biology textbook.

"What?" Moira asks and Alex wonders for a moment if she's really that stupid. That's not something you should say to a person who's barely managing not to go into shock.

"I can't feel my legs." Charles' eyes dart frantically from Moira's face to Hank's. "I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs. _Ican'tfeelmylegs_."

"We gotta get him to a hospital," Alex says grimly and watches as Charles starts shaking in Moira's arms.

"We shouldn't move him," Hank counters quietly. "With back injuries--"

"It might be spinal shock," Alex snaps. Hank's ridiculous blue brows raise. "Temporary loss of reflexes or shit like that? Besides, he's going into a psychological one as well." Alex refrains from pointing at a sweating, trembling form of Charles whose expression is so distant that it's fucking scary. "He might get tachycardia and that shit we can't deal with here on our own."

Hank is rendered speechless by the sole fact that Alex knows this kind of vocabulary. Well. Maybe one day Alex will tell him what was it like, to grow up in a neurosurgeon's house. Hank would love Andrew and his dedication to his work and his patients.

"The plane is out of the question, right?" Moira asks and Hank nods. "I think I'll try to contact the Florida base or hell, the ships. They're not firing anymore, they gotta help us. Sean, could you replace me here so I can--"

"No," Sean answers flatly and Moira's and Alex's heads snap up to look at him. He's pointing at the water, far at the horizon. "No point. They're _leaving_."

Alex turns his head to the right. And fuck this, the little stoner is telling the truth, the ships are clearly moving. Moira's mouthing something, but she's too shocked to form proper words. Unlike Alex and maybe even the rest of the boys, she believed that they were going to get a lift back from the same people who've just fired shitload of missile at them.

"How are we going to get home?" Sean stutters and starts shaking too. "How could he? He, he left us here, all alone. How are we supposed to go home?"

And wasn't that the question of the month. That... fuck. That psychopath took the only means of transport available, puffed himself away and left them on a fucking beach, miles away from civilisation.

"I guess we'll have to hike through the jungle," Alex says and tries to sound confident. Not counting Moira, who still looks like someone ripped her heart out and squeezed it too hard, he's the oldest one. With Charles out cold for now and that fucker gone, he'll have to lead them. "Find a village, get into the nearest town. We need a hospital first, then we'll worry about getting back to the US."

Hank glances down at Charles, who's withdrawn so much that he's not reacting to anything that happens around. Alex swallows. Haley looked pretty much the same after he was done with Vincent.

"Hank," Alex cuts off whatever Beast was going to say. "If we don't want to leave Charles here, we'll have to move him. I may be dim, but leaving him here would be worse than risking furthering the injury, right?"

Hank nods. He moves one of his paws to support Charles' neck, the other one he sneaks under Charles' knees. Moira lets go of Charles as Hank stands up, lifting him. Alex takes it as a signal. Hank will carry Charles, they're ready to go.

"Comrade."

Alex starts at the sound of a heavy, Russian-accented voice. He glances back and there he is, the red devil. If Alex didn't know any better, he'd say that Azazel looked nervous.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Azazel does flinch at that, the sharpness of Alex's tone. The demon extends his hand in a diabolical parody of the same gesture Erik had made not an hour ago. Everyone stares at the red palm opened in an invitation.

"You shitting me?"

Azazel shrugs.

"Shaw had a rule," he says simply. "No harming our own. No leaving them behind too."

Sean curses when Alex takes a step closer to the devil.

"You would take us from here?"

"Da."

Alex risks a glance at the rest of the team. Sean manages to look furious at the prospect of accepting Azazel's offer. Moira keeps her hand on her hip, close to the knife Alex knows she has. Beast... In his blue state Hank looks permanently angry, but his heavy breathing tells Alex everything he needs to know about Hank's opinion on the matter. But then there's Charles who must have lost consciousness, because he's way too still in Hank's arms.

"Does Magneto know that you're here?" Alex asks, but still looks at Charles and the barely-there rise and fall of his chest. They don't have much of a choice, do they?

"And what do you think, comrade?" Azazel smiles darkly.

"Does he _know_?" Alex repeats through clenched teeth.

"... Nyet."

Alex turns to face his group and moves his head, silently tells them to approach. They're not happy, but they oblige. Alex takes the demon's hand, Sean hangs onto Alex's and Moira's and Hank ends up with one of Moira's arms curled around his own biceps.

Alex closes his eyes and decides to take the risk.

"Take us back to New York."

They disappear.

***

The puff of sulfur-smelling smoke announces Azazel's arrival.

"I've left them in the reception of New York-Presbyterian, harasho?" he asks, annoyed. "They are bruised and the telepath needs a surgery, but they're alive. Any more requests, tavarish?"

Erik shakes his head.

"No, that would be all." He dismisses Azazel with a wave of his hand. "I--" He hesitates. "Thank you."

Azazel seems shocked at the concept of anyone expressing gratitude for his services. He eyes Erik critically, but then just shakes his head, mumbles something in Russian and disappears.

Erik releases the breath he didn't realise he was holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered how the team left Cuba. The guys on the ships wouldn't have been helpful and I'm pretty sure CIA didn't fancy sending someone to CUBA just to pick up one expendable agent and a bunch of weirdos.
> 
> My Mum helped me with Russian, but it's been years since she's been learning the language, so correct us if we're wrong.
> 
> Russian-English  
> da = yes  
> nyet = no  
> harasho = okay, fine  
> tavarish = friend, companion  
> zaprosy = request  
> (Great thanks to **kadzumuraki** who told me what I've got wrong!)
> 
> Also, Alex's past. I will be visitng this again in another snippet that will include Alex's foster family. Andrew and Joanna Blanding as well as their daughter Haley are characters from the comics. However, Lucas Till said in one interview that Alex was in jail for hurting a guy who kidnapped him and his foster sister. Therefore, I decided to adopt the comic!plot to fit the movie.


	3. Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the new students is afraid of her power. Charles tries to prove that she shouldn't be and lets her evoke ghosts from memories long gone. Together with Dani, he discovers an interesting fact about his and Erik's relationship.

**Mirage**

 _1979_

The girl in front of him fidgets and puts a strand of silky black hair behind her ear. She's the last from the group he and Sean had brought back from Three Mile Island today. The rest - about a dozen of boys and girls of various ages - have been already assigned to their new bedrooms. Some would stay longer than a couple of days, the school presenting itself as a first place they could be truly safe. Others had families to return to, people who cared about them and worried sick about them. And then there were some who were just too stubborn to listen to reason. Charles winces. His head is still pounding from the sheer force of the anger young Scotty projected during the fight with his father.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Charles blinks and focuses back at the girl. She smiles shyly and her dark eyes lighten with concern. Just like the rest of the children, she'd been shocked to find out that the man who greeted them by the plane was just an illusion, a projection of a real person still seated safely inside. Of a _cripple_. That word reverberated through the minds of most of the children - save for Scotty, who'd already known about him, and young Emma Silverfox, who was too shocked by the loss of her older sister to pay attention to her surroundings - but thankfully none of them decided to voice it. If that were the case, Charles is pretty sure Sean would have tossed the child out of the plane, regardless of Charles' personal views on the matter.

"I'm fine, Danielle."

The girl nods and bites her lip, worries it between teeth. Charles regards her sympathetically. The girl is trying so hard to stop herself from letting her ability take over her hard-won control and projecting an illusion of... of something. Something horrible, Charles assumes, judging by the memories of the way only her parents and grandfather didn't flinch whenever she passed. And that was before the soldiers came and killed her family, took her away.

"It's okay, Danielle," Charles says softly, "you don't have to b afraid of your power. You just have to learn to control it, and not let it control _you_."

"It's difficult," the girl replies. "I wake up half forgotten ghosts. I... It's a curse," she finishes.

"You can master the control over your illusions, Danielle." The girl raises her brows dubiously. "So far, your power reacted to your anger and fear. But if I'm right, and I usually am," Charles smiles when he hears the girl giggle, "you could cast an illusion of anything you wanted. Someone's desires. Recreate a memory. Maybe even create a world."

"You truly believe so?" she asks a little breathlessly, unable to contain her excitement over prospective abilities.

He nods.

"I would like you to cast an illusion for me, Danielle."

The excitement and happiness fades away momentarily. Danielle swallows thickly and looks at him fearfully.

"I can't control it yet," she reminds him. "And I don't wish to bring ghosts to your house, sir."

"You won't," he assures her. "If you focus well enough, you could recreate a memory. This is much simpler than creating an illusionary world of your own and, may I remind you, you've had success with that."

She flushes bright an embarrassed res and lowers her eyes, looks at her hands folded on her lap. Charles reaches out to her, lays his hand on his desk, palm up, open in an invitation.

"Think about something that gives you peace," he instructs as Danielle puts her much smaller hand in his. "The key to your power lies between rage and serenity."

"That sounds wise."

"It is." He smiles reassuringly. "Try to focus on my memories and recreate one. Your ability is empathic, not telepathic, so you won't be able to consciously choose a memory. You'll just have to take one that... feels right."

Danielle nods. Charles closes his fingers over her hand and waits.

 _1949_

For a long moment nothing happens; Charles sits still in his office, then suddenly he's surrounded by utter grayness of absolutely nothing. There are no walls, no floor, no ground whatsoever and for a split second he fears he'll just start forever falling down. It doesn't last though and after he blinks, he's standing on a somewhat familiar pier.

He's _standing_.

He looks curiously around. The day is warm and sunny, indicating late summer. There are people moving around him, strolling, holding hands, talking. He can't hear them - neither with his ears nor with his power - and he knows that they're not real, they're just echoes of a time long since passed.

He doesn't recognise this situation, doesn't remember this day. He strains his neck, turns around and looks for himself; if it really is his memory that Danielle Moonstar is recreating - and it does feel like his memory, it feels comfortable - then, by all means, he should be here somewhere.

"Charles!"

He turns his head so quickly that he world swims before his eyes. He knows this voice, he knows this happy squeak, would recognise it everywhere, no matter how many years have passed since he'd last heard it.

He can't help the way his chest constricts almost painfully - but in a sweet, sweet way - when he finally sees Raven in the crowd. She's blond and happy, carefree in a way he hadn't seen her be for much too long. Her blue dress catches in the light wind as she runs down the pavement, carrying two big ice cones. For a second he's sure that she's running to him, delighted to see him, his beloved sister and friend, and he holds his breath as she approaches and then promptly exhales, marginally disappointed when she passes him by. Logically, he knows that she can't see him, because that's just a memory and he isn't even there. But it still hurts.

"You'll get stomachache," Charles hears his own voice from somewhere on his left.

A much younger and relaxed Charles Xavier, with a headful of curling brown hair, _God_ , is leaning against a railing and looking up, not paying attention to Raven at all. Charles winces at his younger self's behavior. He had such a jewel by his side and he so rarely found the time to appreciate that.

"I'm allowed to, today," Raven says and she grins, hands him one of the cones. "After all, we're celebrating, my most smart brother."

"In the name of higher values then," Charles whispers at the same time his younger memory-self says it out loud.

It clicks. He knows what memory it is, he knows where they are and when they are and why they are here. They're on Liberty Island, it's August and it's the last time they're going to spend an afternoon in New York, at least socially. They're celebrating Charles' early acceptance to Oxford - at the age of seventeen, but it's not that amazing when you think about Hank - and they're joyful at the prospect of leaving Westchester, of getting away from their little hell on Earth. Raven is going with him, of course, will finish her education in England, then she'll enroll at the university just like he did, they'll be happy and together.

At least that's what the then-Charles thought when he was eating ice cream with his sister and was looking up at the Statue. Charles knows fully well how this will end; he'll inform Kurt of his plans, there will be an argument, Raven's control will slip. Kurt will see her, will try to strike her, Charles will defend her and will tell her to leave Kurt's basement lab. There will be a struggle and suddenly there will be a fire.

It's sufficient to say that their journey to Oxford will be postponed until Charles' second-to-third degree burns heal.

Charles observes as his memory-self finishes his ice cream, then wraps an arm protectively around Raven. This is the last time they went out together without him fearing that she'll be discovered and that she'll be killed. After that day - after _Kurt_ \- he couldn't get past that fear, it was ever-constant in the back of his head.

He wonders why Danielle - or Danielle's power, more likely, she still can't fully control it - is showing him this particular memory. Why this one was so important, why this one was above all others. It certainly was a pleasant day at the beginning - they were, after all, leaving Westchester for good - but it isn't the best memory of Raven that he has. There are countless other situations. What is so special?

"This statue," the memory-Charles is saying to a smiling Raven in his best know-it-all voice, "symbolises the fact that America is a land of tolerance, of peace."

There's a short laugh that Charles isn't sure how he managed to hear. Someone rushes by the memory-Charles and Raven, going the opposite direction. A tall, thin man in a long coat, with a ridiculous flat cap on his head. He knocks memory-Charles' shoulder in his haste and doesn't even bother to stop and say sorry.

"Asshole!" Raven shouts after the man, turns to grumble at memory-Charles and promptly freezes when she notices that her brother is looking at the back of the stranger's head, transfixed.

"Charles?" she asks softly.

Memory-Charles blinks and shakes his head, and they resume their languid stroll. He'll be thinking about the stranger for the remainder of the day, but then this thought, this impression, will be lost in the flames and in the pain. Charles will not remember that a not-his memory of thrusting a hand out in desperation - _stop it stop it have to stop it please_ \- is what caused him to fling his hand and knock over some dangerous concoction that Kurt was working on and that caught fire exceptionally well.

Actually, Charles will not remember anything about it until thirty years later. There will be one time when he'll almost touch that thought, buried deep in his memory, but it will be a fleeting moment, easily forgotten.

Charles' knees give up when he remembers the barely-there touch of stranger's mind, the heat and feel of it, the sheer brilliance unlike any other.

Somewhere in the periphery of his vision he sees his memory-self throw his head back and laugh heartily at a joke Raven told him.

 _1979_

"Sir? Professor Xavier?"

Charles blinks and looks at Danielle's face. She's biting her lip again and she's wearing a slightly pained expression. Charles looks down, where his fingers keep Danielle's thin hand in a bone-crushing grip.

"Forgive me, Dani," he murmurs and releases the girl's hand. Danielle quickly snatches it back and starts massaging.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out. "I tried to warned you..."

"I'm not angry," he reassures the girl. "Nor upset. It wasn't... It wasn't a bad memory."

"No?" Danielle doesn't look convinced. "Evoking the ghosts is never a pleasant experience."

Charles wants to laugh. Danielle Moonstar doesn't even know how close to the truth that statement truly was. What it actually _meant_.

"But it certainly was very... illuminating."

Charles never believed in fate and signals from the universe and foreshadowing, but even he can't deny that this was casting a whole new light on his and Erik's relationship. Meeting him once already felt like a part of some grand scheme, a staging for something much bigger than them. But meeting him _twice_? Him unknowingly changing his life so drastically _twice_?

This makes one wonder whether he and Erik were just meant to--.

 _1962_

"Whoa, stop, stop, stop, stop." He freezes in the middle of a step. "Ah!"

He presses fingers to his temple and tries to concentrate.

"Charles!" Moira touches his shoulder blade. "You okay?"

No, not really, he wants to say. He's picking up something, _someone_ , so powerful that it makes him dizzy, it makes him feel like he's high. There's rage and desperation and black despair, deep and sucking in, but there's also a feel of justice to it, strong conviction. A pinprick of a sweet memory dead and buried, love that's been warped out of shape beyond recognition, desire to end it, once and for all, one way or another. That mind's burning hot and bright, all-encompassing like liquid metal, and it's the most amazing thing Charles has ever touched.

(It feels familiar for some reason, like a promise and a warning, a whisper of things to come. Like a fairytale beginning-of-the-end that's as beautiful as it is deadly.)

"There's someone else out there," he tells Moira and rushes back out.

(He quickly forgets about that little feeling. Erik-- Erik's so much _more_ than what he felt on the ship. There's so much more to his brilliance and Charles wants to bask in it. Erik is...

He's _Erik_.)

 _2004_

"When I was seventeen, I met a young man named Erik Lehnsherr."

Charles smiles to himself when he thinks of a different memory, of himself, aged thirty, staring at a dripping-wet Erik with a silly expression of a person who's thinking _finally, I found you, you're here and I'm not alone_.

He doesn't tell Logan _that_ and not only because Logan is not interested in his story at all. He mentions the Liberty Island meeting that only he is aware of because it's simply easier.

It's easier to think about meeting an angry youth who didn't care about people he almost knocked over than it was to think about meeting an extraordinary man who didn't know how to offer his heart and how to accept Charles' in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I took wee bit of liberties with things that aren't clear. This fic takes place pre-canon, during XMFC, Origins and X1 and it tries to clear why the hell Charles in X1 said anything about meeting Erik when he was 17 when he was clearly 30 in XMFC. It also ties to Erik's statement that he first saw the Statue of Liberty in 1949 (while being 19).
> 
> Danielle Moonstar's - aka Mirage's - power is empathic illusion casting. She's not mentioned in any of the canon movies so I decided to make her one of the Origins!Stryker's prisoners.
> 
> Young Scotty Summers is obviously a teenage Cyclops. More on him, Alex and Scotty's mum later.
> 
> Emma Silverfox. The issue with Origins!Emma is bugging me, because it just CAN'T be Emma Frost, but at the same time she DOES have the same/similar ability. It took me a lot of time, but I finally worked out a nice explanation that WILL be included in another snippet, this time starring Emma Silverfox and Beast, with the guest appearance by Charles. (And, for the sake of my sanity, I decided that "Emma" is a pet name. She's actually Emmanuelle Silverfox and yep, she is related to Emma Frost. But no, she doesn't know Emma.)


	4. almost had it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events leading to and during the Alcatraz fiasco, Magneto disappears. It's not handy for Nightcrawler, who needs to deliver to Erik Lehnsherr the last message from Charles Xavier.

**almost had it all**

"You're not an easy man to find, Magneto."

The words are spoken quietly but with an unmistakable German accent. Erik tears eyes away from the obelisk and glances up to look at Nightcrawler. He raises a brow and the boy swallows. He's nervous and a tiny bit scared. No wonder - he never had the chance to actually get to know him.

"I was away," Erik explains. "On a road trip."

Somehow, the boy takes it as an invitation and sits down beside him, almost knocking the chessboard over with his tail. Erik laughs when he sees his cheeks darken to almost pitch black, the exact colour of his messy hair. Kurt Wagner. Little Nils, Mystique's lost child. He's the perfect combination of his parent's best qualities, their abilities. But he also painfully reminds Erik of Raven as she was when he first met her: sweet and naive, sassy but gentle. Erik wonders if Charles knew. If he saw that too. Well. Guessing Kurt's parentage wasn't difficult, given how the boy looks like.

Maybe that's why Charles didn't insist on keeping Nightcrawler at school, as one of the X-Men. Seeing the boy certainly was too much for Mystique. She tried to be indifferent at the Lake, for the audience's sake, but after they went back to their base... It wasn't quiet or pretty. It scared Pyro and taught him to never underestimate the fiery woman.

Nightcrawler looks surprised. That's not an answer he was expecting. Erik takes a deep breath. He knows what the X-Men were expecting of him: to try and find a way to regain his powers, to try and destroy the world again. Erik shifts uncomfortably. He already tried that route and look where it got him. Where it got everyone. His powers were returning on their own, a little bit every day, but Erik doubts he'll ever be able to move grand things again. He struggles with mediocre things and there's nothing - _no one_ \- to help him with his control.

He tried doing it himself once, a day before he just went and bought a car, set out on a trip across the country. He tried to focus that day, think of something good. He tried to remember his mother, but that brought on the thoughts of Charles - of his impossibly blue eyes, of his brilliant smile and _it's a very beautiful memory_ \- and _that_ brought _him_ to his knees.

He couldn't stop shaking for hours afterwards.

"What kind of a road trip ends on the cold steps of Lincoln Memorial?" Nightcrawler asks with genuine curiosity.

Erik smiles. He doesn't expect Nightcrawler to understand. He's not even sure Henry McCoy would be able to understand and he was actually there. The smile disappears. McCoy is the last one now. Not counting him and Mystique, McCoy is the last one to remember.

"The best one," is what Erik settles on and it's the only answer he can give.

Nightcrawler nods, but doesn't look convinced. Erik sighs.

"Why were you trying to find me?"

Kurt hits his forehead with the back of his hand, shakes his head from side to side and mutters a curse in German. Erik closes his eyes. Just like his mother in the youth, so easily distracted with everything.

"Ororo needs to see you," he explains. "She says it is important."

Storm. Charles' little windrider and his proud successor. Erik's favourite, if he had the right to choose one. He certainly preferred her over that Summers' boy who seemed to inherit all of Alex' bad personality traits and none of his dry humour. Or Jean, who always unsettled him because there was something just _wrong_ with her.

"Now does she?"

Nightcrawler shrugs and gets up, offers Erik his hand just like his father's done countless times. His ability - while fascinating - is not as powerful as Azazel's. Azazel could teleport wherever he wanted as long as he knew at least the name of the location, or anything else about the place. Kurt... Kurt needs to be able to see the place he's teleporting to before he actually travels there. It's interesting, Erik muses, how the mutations vary through generations.

And then he thinks, sadly: _Charles would know why they do so_.

"Ororo also said to tell you that it is about the professor."

This catches Erik's attention and Nightcrawler grins. Of course. Charles was always close to Ororo, the orphaned girl naturally gravitated towards the one adult who'd shown inexhaustible amounts of affection and interest. And she was observant; it was likely that she suspected things if she hadn't actually known them.

Erik looks at the chessboard sitting on the stone steps, set up for a game that will never be played. He tips over the black king, gets up and takes Nightcrawler's hand.

***

There are three things Erik registers after arriving at Westchester Mansion in a puff of sulfuric smoke that he'd forgotten how much he hated. One, the mansion changed so much that he'd lose his way if he were to roam the corridors alone. Two, Charles' office on the ground floor had a clear view of a giant satellite dish that was still standing in the same position as Erik left it in over forty years ago. And - most importantly - three: even after everything, even after all those years, he still thought of the mansion as home.

"Magneto."

"Storm."

The white-haired woman turns to Nightcrawler and whispers something to him. To anyone less observant than Erik - or to anyone who hadn't spent half of their lives hunting and spying - it is nothing, just a secret shared between friends. Erik knows better. From the look of adoration on Nightcrawler's face, from Storm's small smile, from the way their hands almost-touched-but-not-quite, he knows better.

He briefly entertains the thought of the expressions on Azazel's and Mystique's faces as they learnt that their only son was courting the closest thing to a daughter Charles ever had. Then he remembered that it was just a fantasy and he'd never see their faces again. His mood darkens considerably.

"It wasn't easy to get a hold of you," Storm says after Nightcrawler leaves and she's settled into a leather chair. She's sitting behind Charles' desk, but the chair is new; Charles never needed one.

"I was, ah, otherwise occupied."

Storm smiles sadly and a little bit pityingly. He clenches his fists. He doesn't need nor want her pity. He knows well what he's done and what he's lost.

"I would have it delivered to you in another way, but no one knows where you live," she states softly as she bends a little and retrieves something from one of the drawers. She takes out a wooden box and sets it on the desk. "So I decided to bring you here. Maybe it's even better, to give it to you personally."

"What is it?" he asks.

Really, now. All this trouble of looking for him for _months_ just to give him a _box_? These people had no idea what to do with their time. What to do with their lives, after... After.

"I don't know," Storm replies and Erik resists the urge to roll his eyes. "But he wanted you to have it. The will wasn't very specific about most things - they are to stay with the school - but he signed some of his personal affects to his sister, we're still trying to find out who it is, no one even _knew_ he had a sister, and he wanted you to have this." She pushes the little box towards Erik. " _That_ was something he was adamant about. Well, that was the only thing that he insisted on, actually."

Erik's hands are shaking as he takes the box and puts it on his lap. His fingers ghost over the lid, hesitant, almost afraid to lift it. He's aware that Storm is on the verge of laying across the desk in order to peek inside, see what their great professor might have wanted his nemesis to have. What was so important.

"Ororo dear, there's been a probl--"

Henry McCoy stops mid-sentence and inhales sharply when he opens the door of the principal's office and sees Erik sitting there. Erik looks up from the box and their eyes meet, for the first time since Alcatraz. Beast looks bashful and if he weren't blue, he might have been blushing. Erik doesn't need to be a telepath to know that Hank is feeling sorry for him. For his state, for the loss of his-- No. Erik follows Hank's line of sight and settles his gaze on the box. Hank's feeling sorry for Erik's loss alright, but not the one Erik thought about.

He's feeling sorry for the loss that affected all of them and yet Hank thinks that Erik is somehow singled out in this sorrow. Like it's different for him. And it is, of course it is. He just didn't think that Hank would remember or would even still think him still capable of feeling that way.

Hank swallows.

"We need you in the Danger Room, Ororo."

Storm spares a glance at Erik, then - with a regretful sigh - gets up and follows Beast outside. Hank lingers in the door a bit longer, shifting his gaze from Erik's face to the box to Erik's face again.

"I'd start with the letters," he murmurs, then turns on his heel and leaves.

Erik lifts the lid.

***

 _Erik,_

 _You'd think me silly, but it is supposed to help. I have a degree in psychology, I should know. I can't talk to anyone, they'd think me ill, sick more than I already am. Even Hank._

 _Especially Hank._

 _You're gone as if you've never existed. The helmet hides you, it makes you disappear. You're gone. It's like you're dead and I hate it, I hate that my world has a you-shaped hole in it that nothing can fill. It's like you're dead and I hate it that you're not really gone, but doing it on purpose._

 _I hope that wherever you are, you're safe._

 _If you ever die, I won't even know.  
Please be safe, be safe for me.  
Ch._

***

 _Erik,_

 _I used to dream that you were holding my hand. Back in the hospital, there were days when I dreamt that you were sitting next to my bed. I loved those dreams, but that's all they were. Every morning I'd wake and you were never there._

***

 _Erik,_

 _I don't know what you've done, but thank you. Thank you, because it worked and they've left us alone. They're not trying to close the school anymore._

 _I wish I could thank you properly. I think I'd kiss you, if you'd let me. I would very like to kiss you--_

***

 _My friend,_

 _I didn't even know that I had you back and now you're gone again. Or maybe not, maybe you're just more gone than you were previously and it's again my fault. I wish I hadn't said anything on that silly device. It makes me selfish, but I wish I had waited until you were done killing those soldiers. I hate that thought, but I can't help it. If I'd waited, you'd have come back to the mansion. You'd still be dropping by with strange requests and a smile that was meant just for me._

 _But I made you leave again and you didn't come back.  
Charles._

***

 _I never knew you could be so lonely while not being alone._

 _I'd give my power to see you smile again._

 _I'd give up the world to have you back._

***

 _Erik,_

 _The boys are surprised that you haven't heard about the Three Mile Island. We have new students now and some of them are truly willing to stay. I believe that we have Miss Frost's niece here, also Emma. I wonder if we should somehow contact you about it._

 _Scott took a liking to young Emma, much to Alex' distaste. Jean seems disturbed by this development._

 _You don't know Scott. I wonder whether you even remember Jean.  
Ch--_

***

 _My friend,_

 _You're walking such a thin line between pursuing your cause and becoming the one thing you despise. You could be someone so much better, if only you'd trust people enough to support you in a change. There was a time when I thought Raven might be that person, but no; you've bent her and reshaped and now she's more like you, you've recreated her in your image. She doesn't want you to change, does she? I hope you will find someone who will. Someone worth changing for._

 _I long since stopped wishing that my love was enough for that.  
Ch._

***

Erik puts the letters aside. Initially bound together by a ribbon, now they were in a disarray, mixed together, newer ones put behind the older. Erik's not sure he'll ever be able to look at them again, but he'll never get rid of them either. They're everything that's-- that's left. And there are so many of them, letters written over the period of forty years, never read by anyone, never sent out to the person they were addressed to.

But that's not everything that's in the box. There are articles torn out from newspapers, all concerning the Brotherhood and some even with a grainy picture of him and Mystique. A sheet of paper from a hotel in Vegas and Erik is shocked to see his own handwriting on it. A black king from the old wooden chess set they were using during their daily games. Erik's sunglasses. For some reason, a single ticket to a Broadway show. And, at the bottom of the box, a folded photograph. Erik takes it out and tries to smooth the yellowish edges.

He remembers this. They were coming back from Russia and everyone was tense; even though they were bringing back Emma, the mission was deemed a failure. Moira was nervous, afraid of what her superiors might say, and she's been toying with a camera that one of the other agents brought with them. Erik refrained from destroying the device even though Moira entertained herself with taking pictures of him. Taking the camera away from her would mean moving and he didn't want to do that. Charles, who was sitting beside Erik, managed to fall asleep and was resting his head on Erik's shoulder.

But this picture is new to him. It was obviously taken by Moira during that flight, but here... Here Charles is still sleeping with his head nestled on Erik's shoulder, but Erik too is dozing, with his cheek and lips buried in Charles' wild hair. He looks... peaceful, for the lack of a better word. It's certainly not one Erik would use to describe himself, but there it is. Charles, on the other hand... Charles simply looks _beautiful_ , but not in the way sculptures are beautiful - marble and cold and unfeeling. He's beautiful because he's smiling softly, because his freckles are visible even on this old picture, because he was once warm and alive and _there_ and suddenly Erik is reminded of why exactly he fell in love with this crazy Englishman.

He turns the photograph and looks at a simple sentence, written in Charles' messy handwriting.

 _April-October 1962  
Six months when I wasn't alone._

***

 _Erik,_

 _I wish I could tell you that I don't care anymore and that you've severed what was left of that connection we had when you left me at Alkali Lake. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive you. I'm not sure I'll ever want to see you again. But as we had to leave Jean behind and as I watched Scott lose himself over her death, I realised one thing._

 _I'll never stop loving you. I may stop liking you, I may even stop wanting you (no, never, oh, we both know it). But I'll never stop loving you, no matter what happens to us or what you do. Maybe it's penance for my sins, but I'll love you until the day I die. I'll love you even after I'm gone, I think._

 _And you'll never know that, my love.  
Charles_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm saying that, but there will be snippets about Emma Silverfox and Scott Summers, and also Nightcrawler.
> 
> I'm assuming that Charles never told the younger X-Men that Mystique is his sister - as sure as hell no one seems to know/remember. But I think that he never stopped considering her his family.
> 
> The musical that Charles went to alone is Wicked. It's not implied in the fic, but I love the idea of Erik and Charles watching Wicked and relating to Ephaba and Glinda, especially during "Defying Gravity" and "For Good".


	5. A forever friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Raven over the course of forty years. Sharon is a Cthulhu worshipper, Cain thinks that punches will solve all the problems, Erik is over-protective in strange ways and Emma shares some life wisdom. And somehow, through all of that, Charles and Raven's familial love manages to come out victorious.

**A forever friend**

Raven doesn't remember much about her first home. Her memories are a tumble of colours and sounds, almost forgotten emotion; they're either specific images or general ideas. She can't make sense of them and she doesn't try; most are not worth remembering anyway. Sometimes she dreams those memories, relives the feeling of her mother's - soft and gentle and loving and sick and weak - arms around her small form and the sound of an old lullaby, sung in a low, comforting voice.

***

Reverend Raphael Darkholme and Cerise Darkholme and Raven Darkholme, living near Salem, Essex County.

***

"You are beautiful, my bird, don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise," her mother tells her as she runs her sickly yellow fingers through Raven's blood red hair. Father closes the Bible and gets up, leaves mother's room quickly. Mother sighs. "He will understand, my little bird, give him time. He will come to love you and he will be proud of who you are."

A monster and a curse, a demon that was born into this world at the price of the reverend's lovely wife.

Mother dies.

 _Priinceps gloriosissime cælestis militiæ, sancte Michaël Archangele, defende nos in prælio et colluctatione..._

Father is heartbroken and angry and hates her, hates Raven because Raven is different, a monster with his wife's smile. Father comes to her room one evening and asks her to pray with him. She does.

 _Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino qui fertis ascendit super caelum caeli ad Orientem..._

He takes her to see the river, goes out with her for the first time in her short life. They stop by a bridge and Raven looks over the railings, at the clear water that reflects the moonlight and her blue face.

"It's pretty, daddy!"

He splashes her with holy water and draws a cross on her forehead. He whispers something in her ear, and the fire in his words burns through her.

 _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare._

He throws a bag over her head and binds her wrists and pushes her into the cold water, and hopes _let it drown, Lord, let it drown, let the witch drown and give me back my wife and my child_.

***

She lives.

She travels, west, far west, far away. She breaks into people's houses, she steals to eat and eats to steal, and it's a loop of survival, in cold and loneliness. Sometimes she sleeps in someone's cellar, where it's warmer than outside and it's not raining and she has a shelter for a night and a roof over her head.

She never stays and never pretends for more than one night. It's difficult to keep one form, especially one that is much bigger than the real her, but she's trying, trying so hard and usually it works. She's lucky or very good, and no one ever questions her and she can take what she needs - never what she wants, no one has what she wants - and move on, to another place, another life not hers.

Until she comes and leaves New York with a stolen hot-dog, until she travels west still and she comes across a mansion, and there has to be plenty of food, no one would even notice that something's missing from the shelves. She stays in a nearby wood for a day, maybe two; she observes the people coming and going from the mansion, the expensive cars and staff and money that's clearly inside. The second night she's too hungry to wait any longer and she decides to risk it and make a move.

She runs out of luck.

***

"I'll make you hot chocolate."

She doesn't remember much about her own mother - gentle touch and lullabies from long ago - but she's seen countless families, mothers making dinners, mothers kissing their children, mothers offering the edible kind of comfort. She thinks she knows how to play the part, but the boy narrows his blue eyes and shakes his head and asks:

"Who are you?" He looks at the photograph she used as a reference and Raven starts wondering where did she make a mistake. "And what have you done with my mother?"

He starts walking towards her and she can still hear him speaking, but his mouth is not moving. He's in her _head_ and the noise is awful, her head starts pounding with the force of his voice. She tries to put hands over her ears, block him, but it's not helping and her concentration on her form is slowly fading away. He'll see her, the real her, and he'll kill her, they'll kill her, but maybe she'll be fast enough, maybe--

The boy smiles. He sees her blue and he smiles, his eyes grow wide and twinkle and he looks at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He exhales like a person from whom a great weight has been suddenly removed, and he looks so relieved. Raven cocks her head to the side.

"You're not... scared of me?"

"I always believed I couldn't be the only one in the world," the boys says with a wistful expression. "The only person who was... different."

Raven thinks she understands. He's different, like she's different, just... in a different way. He certainly looks normal.

"And here you are," the boy carries on. He takes a step closer and extends his hand. "Charles Xavier."

She hesitates, but the hopeful - and lonely too, she realises - expression on his face makes her shake his hand.

"Raven."

He smiles, then quickly sobers. She swallows. She has to run, hide, he'll surely go and bring someone here, that's too good, he's too good--

"You're hungry," he says suddenly, startling Raven. She nods. "And alone." This time she doesn't have to nod. "Take whatever you want," he gestures at the full cabinets behind him, "we've got lots of food, you don't have to steal. In fact..." He licks his lips and his expression hardens into one of a steely resolve, "you never have to steal again."

She can't help the brilliant smile that settles on her face. Charles gestures at the dining table.

"So how about that hot chocolate?"

***

She sleeps in Charles' room that night, curled into a blue ball on his soft mattress. Charles promised that she can stay with him, with his family in this giant mansion.

"Don't worry," he told her over a cup of steaming hot chocolate, "my mother won't object."

Raven wishes that were true, but it's too good to be real and there has to be something bad too. She's alert for the whole night, waiting for someone to scream, for a signal that this dream is over and she has to run. It never comes and Raven wakes in the same position she fell asleep in, but the sun is high and Charles' room is flooded by sunlight and it appears that morning came and went long ago.

Charles smiles from where he's sitting on the bed.

"Good morning, Raven," he greets her cheerfully and points at the wardrobe on his left. "Unfortunately, we don't have any clothes for girls, so you will have to use some of mine. But don't worry, mother will surely let us go shopping with the maids later."

"Thank you," Raven says sheepishly, "but I think I... I need to go."

Charles frowns.

"No, no," he says and Raven can't help but marvel at the air of authority around him. "You're going to stay here, with me. I can't let you back on the streets and mother is not going to be a problem, trust me." He smiles and Raven remembers the way he talked in her head yesterday. It's scary, all of the sudden. Charles' smile drops. "Of course, you can go if... if you want to go."

"I don't!" she hurries to affirm. She truly doesn't want to. Charles is nice to her, the first person in so long to see the real her and not cry out in fear. He still looks at her the way he did in the kitchen the night before, like he can't believe that she's real. Like he is the lucky one.

"Then come on, we need to talk to mother before Kurt comes back from his trip."

Charles catches her wrist and tugs out of the room, through the corridors of this enormous house. He doesn't pay attention to the fact that she's blue, his mind is entirely on their destination. They stop before two-winged closed door and Charles knocks two times.

"Come in, Charles," is the reply they're given.

Charles pushes the door open and steps inside. Raven is hit with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. A tall and skinny blond woman is sitting by a dressing table, smoking and reading. She doesn't even raise her head when they enter, engrossed by the book she seems to devour.

"I need to talk to you about something, mother," Charles says and Raven feels that his grip on her smaller hand tightens.

"Then talk."

Charles clears his throat. He squeezes Raven's hand again and lets go of it, puts his own hand at the back of his neck. Raven notices that his fingers are trembling.

"Mother, this is Raven."

Raven has only a second to contemplate how awful an idea this is before Charles' mother puts her book down and turns around to look at her son and a little blue girl cowering behind him. Charles' mother raises one delicate brow.

"Well this is interesting."

She folds her hands on her lap and looks at her son expectantly. She doesn't say anything, doesn't comment on how Raven is blue and monstrous and probably dangerous. Maybe she's colour-blind.

"Raven is homeless," Charles blurts out. "She has nowhere to go and she broke into our house yesterday, and can she stay with us, please?"

Charles' mother pinches the bridge of her nose and regards Charles coldly. Charles' hand is twitching and he starts moving it towards his temple.

"What about your parents... Raven, right?" Charles' mother asks and Charles' hand drops to his side. His shoulders relax and he seems to slump a little bit.

"My mother died," Raven says quietly, "and my father... he didn't want me."

To put it mildly, but Charles' mother doesn't need to know that. Charles seeks out her hand again and squeezes reassuringly. Charles' mother sighs and reaches for her book.

"Then yes, fine, she can stay." Without taking her eyes off the book, she fumbles to find an unlit cigarette in the dressing table's drawer. "I will arrange a meeting with my lawyer and we'll have the legal paperwork done by Monday."

"Thank you, mother."

Charles tugs at Raven's arm, wordlessly telling her to go, but she stays stubbornly rooted to the ground.

"You don't care?" she asks and Charles' mother turns her head to look at Raven. "About the way I look?"

Charles' mother rolls her eyes, puts her book away and gets up. She kneels in front of Raven and grips her chin.

"There are weirder things in this world than you, Raven," she says and Raven can smell the whiskey in her breath. "And when the Great Old Ones come back, everyone will see that."

She pats Raven's cheek before straightening. "However, I would work on a good disguise if you want to stay here for a longer period of time. My husband is so painfully narrow-minded."

Charles flinches at that.

"What are you going to tell Kurt?"

His mother looks at him pityingly.

"I'm still a bloody Graymalkin," she explains as if Charles was a particularly slow child. "If Kurt wants access to my money, he will accept my decision to adopt a poor, lovely orphan. Besides," she approaches Charles and kisses the top of his head, "I do what I want, Charles."

And that's the end of that particular discussion. Later in the day one of the maids takes the two of them shopping in New York and when they come back, a bedroom across the hall from Charles' is cleaned up and prepared to house a little girl. Charles helps Raven unpack all her new things and watches with growing worry her darkening mood.

"What is it?" he asks finally.

Raven makes a gesture that's supposed to indicate everything around her.

"I can't remember the last time I had--"

"So many new clothes?" Charles supplies. "A room?"

Raven smiles.

"A bed."

***

Charles' mother - but she's Raven's Mother as well now - and her husband argue so loud that it carries all the way up to Charles' bedroom.

"I do what I want, Kurt!" Mother yells and throws something made of glass and valuable, because Raven can hear it shattering. "If you don't like the way I run my household, you're welcome to move out."

Charles sighs and closes the door. He lingers there for a moment before facing Raven with an apologetic expression. He's going to say something he doesn't like, Raven decides and it should unsettle her - the fact that she can read him this well only after a handful of days - but it doesn't. For her, Charles is like an open book, but one of the good ones, the kind she can understand, with lots of pictures instead of words.

"You can't be blue around Kurt," he says quietly. "He's not like mother. He's... a bad man."

"He doesn't know about your ability?"

Charles explained it to her, the first night she slept in her own room. Was supposed to, anyway. The bedroom was spacious and bright, with a sunny-yellow tapestry and soft beige carpets, but it was empty - save for the heavy oak furniture - and seemed lifeless without any personal possessions, trinkets, toys or simply photographs. Raven slipped from under her covers and padded to Charles' room where Charles let her curl under the sheets with him. He tried explaining telepathy to her, the concept of mind-reading, and waited for her to be afraid. He beamed when she'd told him she didn't mind him reading her mind; in that moment Raven was sure she'd never see him that happy again.

"I'm not sure what he knows," Charles answers, "but we can't let him find out about you. He wouldn't do anything nice."

"I can protect myself," Raven insists and Charles shakes his head.

"You shouldn't have to."

Raven taps her chin, deep in thought, before she bites her lip and concentrates. Usually she just copies someone else's form - that is easy and she's good at it. This, though - this time she doesn't fully shift, she just tweaks elements of her own form. She thinks about her own face - what it would look like light and creamy, pale-skinned like Charles' - tries to make her eyes gray and her hair blond and wavy, like Mother's. Just because she has to hide doesn't mean she has to pretend to be someone she's not.

Charles is awed when she finishes and stands in front of him, still small and skinny, but pale and blond.

"This is so... _groovy_ ," he states and she giggles, because that's a silly word. "Do you think you can hold this form?"

She shrugs. Holding a borrowed form for long periods of time is difficult - something Charles promised to help her learn - but recolouring her own shouldn't be as taxing.

"You're amazing."

The door to Charles' room are burst open and Raven shrieks. A tall, powerfully-built boy comes in, scans the room with his narrowed brown eyes before he finally settles his gaze on Charles and Raven.

"Jesus, kid," he growls and his voice is so deep that it feels like its coming from the deepest depths of the Pit and not a human's throat. "What the hell were you thinking? Couldn't you have told her that taking this gal in was a mistake?"

Charles folds his arms on his chest.

"It wasn't a mistake." He clears his throat. "Raven, this is Cain, our stepbrother. Cain, this is Raven."

"Fuck you," Cain almost spits. "You do have a death wish, don't you? Jesus, Charlie, you know how he is. I won't be here forever, you gotta remember that."

"I know," Charles admits and Raven looks curiously from one boy to the other. There's something going on, something she doesn't understand. "We'll be fine, Cain."

Cain's eyes flicker down to the baseball bat that Charles brought with him to the kitchen that night he found her. Raven knows he can't play - he's told her as much - and she's observed enough people to know that he wasn't holding it properly for someone who intended to use it as a weapon.

"Right," Cain murmurs dubiously before he leaves the room. Suddenly Raven thinks she's not the only person who doubts that Charles would be able to defend himself, let alone someone he cares about.

Then she wonders why exactly Charles should possess that knowledge in the first place.

***

It's not easy, being a Xavier, as Raven finds out.

***

Mother likes her better.

Raven quickly takes a note of that, after Charles has a problem getting jealousy out from his otherwise perfectly calm and sweet expression every time Mother calls for her. It's usually for some "girl time" when she lets Raven go through the expensive dresses in her closet, teaches Raven how to properly put on make-up, tells her everything a young lady should know about boys and upper-class life.

"I've always wanted to have a daughter," Mother confesses one day as she's braiding Raven's hair and that's when Raven understands.

Things that are considered normal for other families that Raven watched over the years - like the girls spending time with their mothers, the boys being taught useful things by their fathers - are absent from this house. This family is far from normal and what little time Mother spends with Raven - just a few hours a week when she's not in New York partying or drinking - makes Charles envious and angry. Mother never bothers to find the time for him.

"I can stop going to her," Raven says one day.

That's not exactly what Charles wants - he wants Mother to love him too, to be interested in him like she's interested in Raven - but that's all he can have. She likes Mother's attention, but she can give it up if it makes Charles happier. Or at least less sad than he is now.

"I don't want you to," he answers quickly, too quickly and that's how she knows he read her mind. "You like it."

And that's another problem, this time directly with Charles. He tries so hard to be the perfect son any parent would be glad to have. He wants to fulfill everyone's expectations, grant them all they want so that they'd like him. He skims their minds, finds out what they want, what they need - and he does just that. It's the same with Raven; he tries so desperately to give her everything she could wish for. Gives up everything that is his, just to make her happy.

Sometimes Raven just wants Charles, the real _Charles_ , not the one that's made up of what other people want him to be.

***

"Are you busy?"

Raven sticks her head into Charles' room and patiently waits for an answer. She's done with her work for the day; her tutor praised her accomplishments and promised to tell Mother. Maybe Raven will be ready to go to school next year - she's catching up fast, learns everything she should know and never did because she's been running and living on the streets most of her life. She likes reading, the one thing Charles tried to teach her on his own before Mother hired Doctor Bradley as a tutor. She's not terribly good at it yet - far, far behind an average eleven-year-old - but Charles is proud of her whenever she comes to him, hugging _The Little Prince_ close to her, and reads to him.

"Yes, Raven." Charles doesn't raise his head from the pile of books half his height. "I'm busy."

She worries her lip between her teeth. _Pity_ , she thinks, _I wanted to go swimming_. Charles closes the book and throws it on the pile, turns to her and smiles.

"But you know," he starts, "I could take a break. What do you think about going swimming in the lake?"

He's doing it for her, again, putting his own affairs on hold just so that he can humor her. She grins, but her heart isn't in it.

"I'd love to."

***

"Promise me you'll never read my mind again."

Charles drops he mug he's been holding and it shatters on the floor, spills the hot tea everywhere, including his feet.

"Wh-what?"

"Promise me you'll never read my mind," Raven repeats.

She knows she's hurting him now, but it will be better in the long run. She doesn't want a brother who's always going to do whatever she wants because he knows _what_ she wants. She needs Charles to learn to ask for information, to process it. She wants him to be able to say "no" when he means it, to fight for what he wants.

The only Charles she wants him to be is the Charles that is real.

She almost withdraws her request after seeing the look of desolation on his face. She clenches her fists and forces herself to wait. In the end, it will be worth it. He'll learn to read her the same way she reads him and they'll work it all out.

***

Two times a week, Charles disappears somewhere with Cain and comes back bruised, sometimes even bloody.

"Will you ever tell me what you two are doing?"

Charles shakes his head and cleans the cut on his arm. It's not deep and it doesn't need stitches. Charles can do stitches though.

"You don't have to know," he replies and Raven knows what it means.

He's her brother and he's trying to protect her from something he considers a threat. She accepts that as an answer and goes to find Cain, who's always more vulgar and forthcoming with explanations.

"I'm teaching him," Cain says moodily from his bed, where he's reclining and flipping through a magazine. "Preparing him."

"Preparing him for what?"

Raven sits at the edge of the bed. Cain shoots her a somewhat terrifying, humourless grin.

"Life," he answers ambiguously. "Soon I will leave this fucking place and little Charlie will be left alone to deal with my father. And mind you, my father is not the nicest guy in town." Cain throws the magazine off the bed. "Charlie needs to learn how to stand up for himself. He can't keep on being the polite, ever-bending boy. He needs to know what to do when it becomes too much."

Cain punches the mattress and Raven gets it, the nature of things Cain is teaching Charles. Her decision to push Charles towards expressing his own opinions becomes even more important. Raven will make sure that he learns her lesson, the same way Cain will punch his own into him. Maybe their methods are wrong - but if it means that Kurt will not do anything to Charles, Raven is willing to risk it.

"And how is he doing?"

Cain laughs bitterly.

"He's fucking useless," he says. "I'll be eighteen next year, I'll leave this sorry estate and I'll never look back. I have no idea how Charlie's gonna survive four more years with my father, I really don't."

Raven is not sure either. But between the two of them and Mother - even drunk - they'll make it work.

***

Cain leaves Westchester in the summer, enlists and kisses Breakstone Park goodbye. Three months later, Mother dies.

***

They survive. The three years after Mother's death are a nightmare, Charles' nightmare, because Raven's safety is hard-fought and paid for with blood and broken bones, scars across the back and silence. Raven's been living on the streets - just three years ago, just four - and she knows how to take care of herself; she wants to take care of Charles too, but he stubbornly refuses with a pained smile and he's using what little confidence in _himself_ Raven made him acquire against her.

She's both happy and furious.

And then something shifts. Two years after Mother's death, something changes, in Charles and in the way Kurt approaches him. Before, Kurt saw Charles as spoilt and weak - now he looks at him with growing suspicion and distaste, as if Charles was something hideous that you should be ashamed of.

Raven isn't sure why, but Kurt ends up sending Charles to a hospital for four days. When he comes back - even paler than usual, with a tight expression and dark circles under his eyes - he's not the same brother she last saw on a Monday morning. He's much more in control of himself, he's trying to be optimistic and cheerful, but there's also an invisible wall around him that wasn't there before. He's withdrawn, hid away in all the ways that truly matter.

She's grateful when the letter from Oxford arrives. Charles applied to Harvard as well, but she knows that he'll chose Oxford. That's where his father and grandfather graduated from, in Oxford he has an apartment he inherited from his father. Oxford is also much further away from Westchester and Raven thinks that is the most important factor. Whatever his reasoning, Charles makes a decision for them and Raven takes him to New York to celebrate. They eat too much ice cream and admire the view of the City from Liberty Island, and later Charles takes her to a fancy restaurant for a dinner and to Majestic Theatre to see _South Pacific_. They come back to the mansion late at night, happy and laughing because no amount of assholes bumping into them, annoying waiters messing up their orders and snoring old women sitting next to them in the audience could have ruined the day.

Kurt is exactly where they've left him in the morning - hunched over some solution in his lab, not interested in whatever happens on the higher levels of Breakstone Park. They approach him steadily and with caution; they decided to inform him of their plans post factum, when it's all already decided upon and almost executed. It's like tearing off a band-aid: better do it quick and once you're sure the wound beneath will not start bleeding again.

"What do you want?" Kurt snarls when they enter his lab. Raven hates this place, gloomy and smelly and scary. She lingers by the door while Charles goes up to Kurt and puts hands on his hips.

"Raven and I are moving to England," he informs Kurt in a calm, measured voice. "You can stay here until the day I officially take over the estate. After that, I want you gone from my property."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can. Once I'm eighteen, I will have a full access to what my mother left me, full decisive power and _I want you gone_. From Breakstone Park, from my _life_."

"You ungrateful little fucker." Kurt drops the metal instrument he's been holding and Charles flinches. Raven quietly moves a bit closer to him. "All I've ever done was to protect your lily white ass. Where do you think you'd be if I hadn't married your mother, huh? Still in Alamogordo, with your dear uncle Nathan, treated as a freak you are!"

Even from the distance Raven can see Charles pale visibly. He grips an edge of one of the tables to steady himself.

"And after that, I tried to make you a _man_ ," Kurt carries on, "but you're really not, not even half a man your worthless father was. You little queer, I shoulda put you in an institution, like Alexander did with his boy. But I _pitied_ you, you're petite, _delicate_ , God forbid someone would _hurt you_. But I shouldn't have hesitated, that's the only thing you're--"

"Shut _up_!"

Raven charges Kurt and punches him as hard as she can. Maybe she's just fifteen, but she's also a shapeshifter and she can give herself as many muscles as she wants, so she does and she keeps hitting Kurt over and over and over--

"Raven, Raven, _God_ , stop, RAVEN!"

She's aware of Charles shouting her name in distress, but it's pain and the feeling of warm blood trickling down her arm that snaps her out. She blinks and risks a glance at Charles, who's so pale that he appears transparent.

"What the _fuck_ are you?"

She looks down at her hands - her _blue_ hands and raises her head just in time to see Kurt taking hold of a scalpel and trying to stab her. She twists out of his grasp and suddenly Charles is standing between her and their stepfather.

"Raven, run," Charles rasps as he punches Kurt in the stomach - just the way Cain taught him to. It's not enough to hurt Kurt, but it's enough to make him drop the scalpel. "Go, NOW!"

She runs out of the lab and upstairs, to the kitchen where she yells at their cook to go and get the gardener, any of the groundkeepers, before it gets ugly. The woman hurries to carry out young mistresses' wish while Raven gets to a telephone and tries dialing the police. She's suddenly grateful that Charles insisted on installing the blasted thing.

She's in the middle of briefly describing the argument and the following fight when she hears it. Charles' mental voice was always louder and clearer than his real one and when he's projecting - he almost never does, his control is perfect - there's no way people won't hear him.

"Just come!" Raven snaps at the person on the other side and hangs up. She runs back to the basement, to the lab. She changes into the form of Emile - maybe not the bulkiest one, but the character is the only adult she can think of now - as she runs, with Charles' voice like a second heartbeat, at the back of her mind.

 _PleasepleasehelpsomeonepleaseIdon'twanttodiepleaseanybody._

Kurt designed the whole basement as a giant bunker so Raven doesn't even feel the heat until she reaches out to open the door. The flames burst out and threaten to devour her, but she pushes nonetheless. The lab is mostly gone by now, and it's like stepping into the hellfire, the thoughts of monsters and sinners burning and of eternal damnation her father so fondly spoke of are trying to stake their claim over her mind. She banishes those thoughts, wraps them up and puts them away just like Charles taught her to. Charles. Charles is what's important now and she has to find him and take him away from the fire and the smoke, save him.

 _SavehimsavehimCharlesCharleswhereareyou._

Her fake skin burns, but she refuses to give in, she holds onto that form of a strong, grown-up man who'll have no problem carrying out a skinny seventeen-year-old.

"Charles, Charles," she rasps when she finds him, and there's no response from him in her mind.

She catches him under his arms and drags him out, away from the fire and away from the lab. She doesn't spare a thought for Kurt; he's not important, not at all, she needs to take Charles away. She manages to close the door - and a part of her mind that's always curious and sounds too much like an over-excited Charles reminds her that a fire with no oxygen supply will soon die out, oh, _shut up_ \- before she drags Charles' body a bit further away and she finally collapses beside him. Her form ripples back to the well-worn cute blond when she hears raised voices from upstairs.

"HERE!" she yells and slumps against the metal wall of the bunker. She thinks that Charles' clothes are still burning, but maybe that's just her mind playing tricks on her.

She's so tired.

***

Charles spends two months in a hospital. Second-to-third degree burns, the doctors say, naturally inflicted and deepened by the burning and plastered clothes. Raven feels sick at a mere thought.

Charles tries to smile and tells her that he was lucky. He doesn't remember what caused the fire, but he was not facing Kurt when it did. Most of his burns are on his back, from where the shirt clung to his body. There's going to be ugly scarring, but it could have been worse. It could have been a full third or even a fourth degree, it could have been his face or his hands, he could have lost his hands. Thank God a handsome plantation owner was there to save him.

They need to postpone going to Oxford until Charles' burns heal. It's another two months after leaving the hospital before the scar tissue properly forms. Charles never complains and keeps his emotions and pain in check. She doesn't get so much as a nightmare from him.

She tells him, with vicious satisfaction, that Kurt's body burned. She tells him that even though he didn't ask. But he looks relieved when he hears it.

***

It takes Raven many years to figure out what they've taken out of that experience and it's unsettling and depressing when she does. While she was proud of her control and keeping a form even under lots of stress and fear, Charles only remembered her being attacked over the fact that she was blue.

***

They settle into a comfortable routine in Oxford. Raven finishes high school and Charles pursues one course after another. But no matter what he chooses - anthropology and psychiatry are his kinks for two semesters, then biophysics and psychology for some girl or another - genetics is his first love. Raven wonders what it says about him; that he's interested in mutations, obviously, but there's also the fact that both Grandfather James and Charles' father were geneticists, as well as Kurt and uncle Nathan that she's heard next to nothing about. She wonders how much those men influenced her brother and the decisions he's made in his life.

She takes a waitressing job in The Bear to pass her time. For a long time she's not sure what she'd like to study and if she wants to study anything in the first place. Charles urges her to enroll on a safe course like English literature or history of art. But that's not what she wants. If Charles ever intends to find other mutants, they'll all need help. Someone to vouch for them and protect them, and speak for them.

"I was thinking about going for law," she tells Charles one afternoon as he wraps up working on his master's thesis. He gapes at her so long and hard that his pen falls out from between his fingers and he doesn't even notice.

"Law?" he asks in this weird half-contemplative, half-scared voice that Kurt forced on him. "But it's... it's difficult, Raven. A very long path to becoming a lawyer. And do you know how hard it is, for a young woman? If you want to study, you can surely find something more suited for a lovely young lady like you."

She's pissed at him for the remainder of the evening and goes as far as ruining his chances with Amy. _Waitressing_ , she tells the girl because that's the epitome of what Charles envisions for her, something stable and safe, not attracting attention, perfectly normal. The way her blond form is.

Charles is so conflicted. He still fights to find a place between what he wants and what he thinks others want from him. It's clear in the way he goes through various girls - not because it amuses him specifically, but because that's what other men his age and his position _do_. It's clear in the way he acts around her when she's wearing her real form; she still catches him with that awed expression she remembers from the kitchen so long ago and she knows that he likes the real her, maybe even he likes her that way best. But he's not going to admit that and he's not going to tell her what he really thinks. So she pushes him, tries to make him meet his limit; she asks him if she's attractive, if he'd date her, hoping that one day he'll just snap and tell her, one way or another, what he thinks of her parading blue. It's the lack of decision that irritates her, because if she knew what he truly thought, they could work on proving him wrong.

Charles doesn't raise the bait and refuses to discuss her looks with her. He also meets with Amy in The Turf several nights later and they remain an on-and-off power couple for the remainder of their Oxford days. All in all, Raven decides, Charles could have done much worse than Amy Brewer, and she's even prepared for the eventuality of accepting Amy as a sister-in-law.

And then Moira MacTaggert comes and plucks them from their safe haven, and they get caught up in a whirlwind of powers and mutants and destruction, and Charles' eyes light up for the first time in years as he looks at the wet form of Erik Lehnsherr.

***

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Raven intertwines their fingers together before she joins the merry band inside of the mansion. She knows how much Erik's comment has hurt Charles and she seriously considers kicking Lehnsherr's ass in retribution.

"We have nowhere else to go," Charles reminds her. She shakes her head.

"That's not what I asked."

He sighs.

"We had to come back at some point," he tells her quietly and leans in to kiss her forehead. "I'm just glad I was able to come back here with people I care for."

***

She pushes, the last time, in the kitchen. She's naked, because _why the hell not_. And maybe it's taking Erik's view on being comfortable with your mutation to a whole new level, but yes, she's comfortable being blue. And she knows _for a fact_ that Charles likes her the way she is, so why won't he just step out of his shell and admit that fine, they're different and maybe it's not the time for them yet, but they can be at ease here.

And the idiot mentions Hank, of course, because that's the easy way, that's the way to fit in and he wants her to fit in, he wants her to be normal and be safe. Raven allows herself to wish for Kurt Marko to raise from the dead just so she could kill him again for whatever he's done to turn her fearless, proud brother into this person.

"Until recently, I never had to use my power to know what you were thinking, Raven."

And isn't this _precious_. Charles is rubbish at interpreting people without his telepathy. And maybe he could always guess when she was hungry or needed a drink or was angry - slamming doors was usually involved as a clue - but he could never tell the deeper, more meaningful things. He never learnt to read her, not the way she could read him.

So she snaps at him, drives her words where she knows it will hurt the most.

"But no matter how bad the world gets, you don't want to be against it, do you? You want to be a part of it."

 _Tell me what you think, Charles. Don't hide, tell me what bothers you, what are you afraid of, what has he done to you to scare you so badly?_

She storms out of the kitchen, hoping that he'll follow her an tell her to take some clothes from his wardrobe, because they don't have any for girls.

***

He never does. She remains blue and naked for years, still hoping that one day he'll tell her that she's blue and it's fine, but being proud doesn't mean she has to overdo it.

She waits for that until the end.

***

The beach is the last straw for them.

 _Fight for me, Charles. Tell me that you're my brother, that we promised to be together and protect each other. Don't go down that self-sacrificing route again. Don't be an idiot. Just tell me that you need me too and I'll stay because that's what siblings do for each other. They find the middle ground between what they want to do and what they need to do._

"You-- you should go with him. It's what you want."

"You promised me you would never read my mind."

He's not doing that and they both know it. Charles, for once, in a flash of brilliant insight, reads her just right. Of course she wants to go with Erik, he promises a world she yearns for; but that's not important. Charles is important, because he's her idiot big brother who has trouble asking for things and he doesn't know how to put his wishes over someone else's. He just needs to admit it, just say that he's not, that he's in pain, that he loves her, anything. Anything and she'll stay, Erik be damned.

"I promised you a great many things, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

She lowers her eyes. She's sorry too, for not being able to get through to him. For seeing him give her up because he knows she wants something he cannot give her. And life's not about getting everything, it's about being able to let go of certain things for the possibility of staying with the people you love. But Charles doesn't understand that concept and she can't make him. She tried, but she can't.

She kisses his forehead, leaves some vague, meaningless instruction for Moira and shouts that stupid catchphrase at Hank. She leaves with Erik and their new team in a puff of smoke.

***

 _I just want you to know, Charles, that I will come back. Once you learn that compromise is not only about giving things up, but also about requesting things in return. Ask something of me and I will gladly give up Erik and his cause and his stupid cape. For you, brother mine. Only for you._

***

" _Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet._ What the hell does it even mean?"

Angel crumples the piece of paper and throws it into a bin. Raven suddenly doesn't even want to check what her own fortune cookie says.

"It means that they're as different from each other as they can be," Emma says softly, "but, in the end, they can't live without each other."

"That's stupid, I've seen people without legs," Angel comments at the same time Raven says:

"And what makes you an expert, Emma?"

Emma smiles, but it's not her usual smirk. This smile is softer and more private, not meant for the eyes of anyone in the outside world.

"My own brother, Mystique," she replies. "My own _human_ brother," she adds before Raven can ask why her brother has not been introduced to the Brotherhood yet.

"Human?" Raven raises her brows. "And how exactly did he fit in with Shaw's plan for nuclear war?"

"I never liked that part of Sebastian's plan," Emma states casually and reaches for another cookie. "I was in love with the 'mutant superiority' part. I've been working on getting Shaw to give up on the war, but then you came in, made him rush everything and, well, killed him."

"Did Shaw know about your brother?"

Emma looks at her with merriment.

"And why do you think I was even working with Sebastian?" she asks, laughing. "I was doing that to help him as well. I'd do everything to protect him. He was the only person in my family who ever gave _a damn_ about me."

Angel's expression falls and settles somewhere around 'disturbingly miserable'.

"I haven't seen Tito in years," she speaks slowly, like it pains her to remember. Maybe it does; Angel's never said anything about her family in all the months Raven's known her. "He's my Papa's from second marriage, but I raised him, me and _abuelita_. He's always been such a smart kid, even got a scholarship, you know?"

"Then why haven't you seen him?"

"He and Grams needed money, so I started working in the club. They paid well, but no one wanted to be associated with a family whose member was a stripper." Angel shrugs. "So I left the house, sent the money by mail. I had to do that, if I wanted Tito to be someone better than me." She looks outside of the window, closes her eyes and basks in the warmth of the Mexican setting sun. "I don't wanna talk about this."

Emma pokes Raven's side with one perfectly manicured finger.

"So what's your tale of woe?" she asks and tries to sound amused. It fails miserably, because everyone knows who Raven's brother is and everyone knows what happens if someone as much as utters that name in their base.

"I--" And really, what is it that happened between them? "I think my brother loved me too much."

Emma frowns and Angel gapes, neither of them understanding how and in what world that can be a bad thing. But it is, they'll never understand it if they haven't lived it, but it is and sometimes it hurts so much.

***

Riptide hears somewhere that the New York State Education Department is paying too much attention to Charles' school. The next day, the plans of a military base that Raven was going to infiltrate disappear from Erik's desk and Magneto is seen on evening news.

"Thank you," Raven says after Erik finally comes back, cape bloodied and expression grim.

"For what?"

"For distracting them."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Raven smiles.

"I think you do," she says and she places a hand on his shoulder. "You're turning yourself into a villain so that the humans have someone to compare Charles to. Charles on his own is dangerous, but if they put him next to you, it makes them think he's much better than he truly is."

Erik shrugs and drops the cape. Raven winces; blood stains are difficult to remove from carpeting.

"It's not difficult to be seen as good when compared to me," he murmurs.

Raven draws him into a hug.

"I believe that's your point."

Erik smirks that quirked smile of his that indicates he's proud of her, of what she's accomplished. She doesn't tell him that to her, he's almost as obvious as Charles. Ability to read him and to reign him is her secret weapon and she's not ready to give it up just yet.

"You're too smart for your own good, Raven Xavier."

"Raven Darkholme," she corrects. Erik raises his brows. "Charles can't be associated with us, in any way. If giving up my name is what it takes to keep his school going, fine. His school is a priority. So... We do what we can."

***

"I'm so sorry, Raven."

"Mystique," she replies coldly.

Maybe it was a mistake from the beginning, but there's nothing she can do now. Charles never knew he had a nephew. He'll never know that he lost a nephew either.

***

 _Do you still think of me as a sister or is Raven truly dead to you?_

***

"Will it harm him?"

"Pardon?" Erik asks and raises his brows, sure that he didn't hear her right.

"I asked if this would harm him."

The metal toy on his desk falls apart and the balls flatten under his anger. Mystique is not phased. To be honest, she's sure she reached that point in her life when - for all intents and purposes - she turned into Mother and is incapable of being phased by anything.

"How can you even _ask me that_ ," he forces out through clenched teeth. She regards him with her head cocked to one side.

"Considering what we're planning, I'd say it's a perfectly sound question."

" _Nein_ ," he barks, the German only adding force to this single-word statement. "It will only keep him out of commission and harm's way until we're done."

It's good to know that some things never change. She nods and morphs into Robert Drake. She has work to do.

***

"Did you know?" she asks him a week after, when she's sort of dealt with seeing Nightcrawler and scared Pyro shitless.

"Did I know what, my dear?" Erik answers with a question and a smile. She's not sure how to approach the topic - if he didn't know, this will force him into a long walk of self-hatred. But if he did know... She's not sure what she'd do to him then, but she's sure as hell that she'd do _something_.

"Did you know, when we left Charles at Alkali Lake, that the base was going to be flooded?"

She watches his expression change. First it's contemplation as he goes over the meaning of her question, then it's a rapid change from disbelief to terror to anger to fear again before it all settles on a look of utter devastation. That's all she needs to have her answer, but Erik forms the words nonetheless:

" _No_." He swallows. "I didn't."

It hurts to see him like this. He thought he'd said his goodbyes at Alkali Lake - as if that would ever happen, one did not simply say goodbye to Charles Xavier - but now there's another factor to consider. When they were leaving the Lake, they were convinced that Charles' students - and Nightcrawler, _Nils_ \- would get him out and into safety without much trouble. But now-- How could Charles think anything other than that they've left him to die?

"Do you think he'll ever forgive us?"

She thinks about her answer, but there's truly only one she can give.

"Yes," she say, because Charles is not capable of reaching that level of selfishness it would require to hate them. "I believe he knows us better than we know ourselves and he will come up with an explanation for our deeds that's much deeper than simply saying that we're evil."

***

 _I wonder how you survived that day, Charles. I've never loved him and seeing him leave me almost killed me. Pray tell, brother mine, how did you get over Cuba? Where do I go from here?_

***

She wishes she didn't know, didn't understand, but she does - that's what spending your entire adult life with one man tends to do to you. She wishes she could say that she's bitter or heartbroken or angry. On some level, maybe she is, but she also knows that this is the way Erik operates.

He leaves behind those he wishes to protect.

She goes straight to the CIA. She doesn't know what else to do - whom she could alert to get their attention. She knows how Erik works; he'll leave the forest base as soon as he can, more so if the whispers of a mutant army are true. It's easy to predict where he'll go - the Alcatraz Island is the only destination for him - and it's her job to make sure no one stands in his way.

She gives them the location believing that Erik's already vacated the place. She'll play the part of a betrayed lover and they'll believe her, they'll send soldiers to the forest and leave Alcatraz unguarded. That's all he'll need.

The final act of a faithful follower, curtain drops, the end.

***

The Oxford apartment looks exactly the way she remembers from 1962; the layers of dust are thicker, but everything else is exactly the way they've left it. Raven trails fingers over Charles' handwritten notes, barely readable after all those years. Her robe is still lying on his bed, the way she's thrown it the morning of his official Ph.D. presentation. No one has been here since 1962 and walking the halls of Grandfather James' apartment feels surreal - it makes her think, just for a moment, that here, in Oxford, time was suspended and that Charles will come through the door, laughing, at any moment.

He doesn't. It shouldn't break her heart, but it does.

Their apartment is not the only thing that hadn't changed. Much to her surprise, the account set up for Raven Xavier is still operating and still has money, _lots of money_. The clerk in the bank is baffled when he sees her, still beautiful and stunning, with an ID that states she was born in 1934.

"I have a good plastic surgeon," she jokes and the man buys it, issues her a new credit card and talks to her about prospects for the account.

She settles in a comfortable routine and is shocked at how easy it is to fit back in the flow of Oxford life. She gets a job. She buys a cat that she names Groovy and she enrolls on a university course. Life goes on.

***

"Raven, there's... someone to see you."

Mercy points at a bulky man seated in the far corner of the bar. Raven's heart skips when she recognises the well-tailored suit and blue fur. She takes out her smartphone, plasters the biggest and most sincere smile and moves to stand by the customer's side.

"Welcome to The Bear, the oldest pub in Oxford," she says cheerfully and waits for Hank to raise his head. "I'd like to propose Irish coffee, we have a discount today."

"Raven," he breathes. "It's... good to see you."

"Hey, Beast." From the corner of the eye she catches Mercy waving at her. "Can you wait here? My shift ends in half an hour."

"Sure. And I'd love a cup of Irish coffee."

It's the middle of the day on Wednesday so the only customers are some hardcore freshmen, skipping classes in favor of drinking. Mercy winks at her and lets Raven off a quarter earlier. Raven nods her thanks and moves to the booth that Hank is occupying. She folds her hands on the table and looks at him. He stares right back, yellows eyes unblinking.

"We've been looking for you," he says finally.

"Whatever it is that happened," Raven hurries to tell him, "it's not me. I've been here for the past few months as my employer and the head of my department may confirm. It wasn't me."

Hank laughs, a deep, rumbling sound.

"I'm not accusing you of anything!" he assures.

"Good. Because I rather like the law of contract and I don't want to miss any classes."

"You're studying law?"

Raven shrugs.

"I have time," she explains. "I have money. And maybe one day it will prove useful."

"Well, the school lacks a proper legal representation..."

He smiles sadly and Raven can't force herself to return the gesture. Her facial muscles stubbornly don't want to move.

"What do you want, Hank?"

He clears his throat.

"Magneto suggested to look for you here," he starts explaining. "I didn't know why you'd be here, but you are." He drags his paw over his face tiredly. "We've been looking for you about Charles' will." His hand suddenly drops. "You do know that he-- died?"

"I'm aware," she whispers and looks pointedly at the table.

She doesn't mention how she found out because of a three line obituary in a newspaper someone left in the bar nor how she lived in an emotional vacuum for a week before finally breaking down and collapsing in the middle of the living room, crying for what felt like the first time in years.

"We need you to come back to Westchester," Hank tells her. "There are things you have to sign. There are things Charles left you."

Her head snaps back up.

"He left something to _me_?"

"He left it to his _sister_ ," Hank answers, stressing the last word, fully knowing that this is what she needed to hear.

***

 _Father Teacher Leader_

Raven puts a bouquet of lilies on the top of the tombstone and traces the words, the name, with her fingertips. They've missed the important, she thinks, the ones which came first and truly described Charles his whole life.

 _Brother Lover_

Or maybe it's a good thing that they didn't write it down, she muses. After all, it _is_ important. This part of Charles, it shouldn't be exposed in the public. He wouldn't want that. He was afraid of that. It should belong to her and Erik only.

"I'm sorry, are you looking for someone?"

Storm - Charles' little girl, as Erik used to call her, half-mockingly, half-lovingly - regards her with curiosity. She's never seen her in a form other than a borrowed one or her natural blue, so she doesn't recognise Mystique in her. Raven pushes black hair from her eyes - and funny, her whole life she'd thought that she'd be blond - and gives the girl a brilliant smile that once won her Charles' heart in a cold kitchen in the middle of the night.

"I believe I was invited," she says and extends her hand. "I'm Raven, Raven Xavier."

"You're the professor's sister," Storm murmurs disbelievingly before squeezing Raven's hand. Raven glances at the tombstone, then looks back to Charles' girl who admires her in awe, as if presented with a character straight from myths or fairytales, ethereal and too good to be true.

"Yes," she says with as much conviction as she can muster. "Yes, I am."

***

 _A sister is a forever friend._  
a saying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... ended up being longer than just a snippet, but I couldn't stand cutting it into pieces.
> 
> \- the Latin text in the first section is the Section 13 of Rituale Romanum aka the Exorcism Rites; the first passage is the introduction, the second Psalm 68, the third is the main exorcism rite  
> \- _South Pacific_ is a musical that premiered April 7th, 1949 on Broadway; Ezio Pinza played - an won a Tony for that! - the main male character, a French plantation owner named Emile; I highly recommend watching/listening to this musical  
>  \- Sharon Xavier is a closeted Lovecraft fan and Cthulhu worshipper; she's based on my father, whose belief border on Scientology - and really, he wouldn't be phased if I introduced a blue girl either; once you believe such weird things as aliens or Great Old Ones, nothing can shake you (also, Marvel has a nice spin on Lovecraftian mythos and I found it oddly satisfying to give Sharon that for a hobby)  
> \- Breakstone Park is a name I'm using for the mansion; Breakstone Lake is, apparently, the lake that's located on the grounds  
> \- Graymalkins are the owners of the mansion as well as 90% of the fortune Charles inherited; it's always Brian Xavier that's presented as the rich one and I wanted to spin that idea; also, it fit with my image of Sharon being the person who can't take "no" for an answer simply because she's not used to anyone denying her  
> \- I DID NOT intend any character bashing; if someone thinks I've done someone injustice, please, speak up, maybe I just phrased something in a wrong way  
> \- also, I love the relationship between Charles and Raven in XMFC and I refuse to believe that she somehow went to being completely indifferent to him in the Trilogy - that's why I've put those extra scenes of Raven being concerned; Mystique's treatment of Charles in X1, X2 bugs me a lot, considering what we know about them from XMFC (yep, I know the Trology is older, indulge me): she appears not to give a damn at all - I would be fine if she hated him, because hatred indicates that she still finds him important enough to hate him. Indifference, that's when you know that a relationship is truly dead.  
> \- few incidents mentioned in previous snippets are referenced here as well


	6. The first Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In December 1962, the fledgling Brotherhood spends the holiday season in Panama. With Raven realising what she's missing this Christmas and Erik not knowing what to do about it, Angel tries to save the holiday spirit for everyone.

**The first Christmas…**

Angel takes a deep breath of the slightly salty air and leans against the railings of the safehouse they’re staying in. In the garden Azazel and Riptide are training, fighting together for pure fun. Their laughter sounds strange in the empty mansion where every corner seems to be filled with gloom and Magneto’s bad mood and short temper. The weather in Panama is beautiful and reminds Angel of that one summer when Grams took Tito and her to Disneyland. It’s hard to remember that it’s supposed to be Christmas season back home. _Home_ , Angel thinks sadly. The Breakstone Park that Raven so fondly talks about – and that makes Erik’s face twist in a hilarious cross between self-pity, misery and longing – is a place she’ll never see. Erik and Raven, both in different but obvious ways, think of it as home; Angel doesn’t have that, her only home is the run-down flat in Georgia where Grams and Tito don’t even expect to see her for Christmas dinner. She knows, though, what home isn’t and it’s shaped exactly like this soulless coast mansion in Panama that, according to Janos, belongs to the Hellfire Club. It’s the most luxurious place she’s ever seen and she hates it more than anything, more than that claustrophobic submarine, more than the dusty club where Erik and the professor found her.

Raven seems to agree with her.

“We should get a Christmas tree,” Angel hears Raven say from the inside of the mansion. Even the railings outside squeak and it’s enough to communicate Magneto’s displeasure.

“Why exactly should we do that?”

Angel moves back to the spacious drawing room where she leans against the terrace door, half hidden behind light curtains. Magneto’s sitting on one of the leather sofas, reading one of the books Raven had bought while in town. The blue girl is standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips and chin raised defiantly. Angel smiles. Oh, this one he won’t win.

“Because it’s Christmas tomorrow,” Raven explains. “Everyone has to have a Christmas tree on Christmas.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Mystique, none of us are particularly religious,” Erik dismisses her. Angel winces. He is partially right; they all come from different backgrounds – Janos and herself are Catholics, Raven is a Methodist, Azazel an Orthodox and Erik sails from a completely different religion – but this is not what Raven means, _at all_.

“It’s not about religion,” Raven answers exactly the way Angel thought she would. “It’s just… It’s a tradition, Erik. We’ve always decorated a Christmas tree at home.”

Angel closes her eyes. This was just the wrong thing to say. When she opens her eyes, Magneto has already laid the book aside and stood up. Raven moved her hands and crossed them across her chest. She raises one brow and refuses to be intimidated – Angel can’t decide if she’s that brave or that stupid. Probably both.

“You’re not at home,” Erik hisses.

“Yes, I know--"

“You’ve made your choice, _Mystique_ ,” Erik continue and stresses the last word. “Or do you regret it already? Would you like to go back to your pretty little life? Be back _home_ , safe inside the golden cage? Do you miss that _lie_ so mu--"

“Yes, I do!” she shouts, finally angry. Angel thinks that whatever she is going to say to him, he had it coming. “I miss my life! I miss my friends, my home, my family. I miss my brother!” To give him credit, Erik does try not to look affected by the last comment. “This is not how I pictured fighting for equal rights! We run away, hide and plot, brilliant! It’s Christmas and we’re pretending it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t to you, but unlike you, I _have_ something, _someone_ , to miss!”

Angel fully expects her to punch Erik in the face, but Raven just grabs the book he was reading, turns around on her heel and storms out of the room with an angry “and fuck you, this isn’t for you!”. Magneto looks – for the lack of a better suited word – surprised and quite wretched by Raven’s outburst. Mystique did go overboard with her closing statement though; Angel doesn’t know much about Magneto – much less than Raven and Raven doesn’t know much to start with – but she knows enough.

“You shoulda agreed to that Christmas tree, daddy-o.”

Erik narrows his eyes when Angel moves from behind the curtain. She cocks her head and silently invites him to the terrace. There they see as Raven makes her way through the garden and goes up to Azazel, interrupts his training. Erik curls his fingers around the railings as Raven talks to the red teleporter in the distance and Azazel nods at something she’s said. Angel dares and puts a hand on Magneto’s shoulder.

“Let her,” she murmurs and means both Raven’s forming camaraderie with Shaw’s former henchmen and her obvious desire and plan to get home for Christmas.

“We’re not in Westchester anymore,” Erik says so coldly that it chills Angel right there, under the Panamanian sun. “She’s not Charles Xavier’s little sister any longer.”

“But she is, baby.” Angel goes a step further and pats him. He still doesn’t tell her to keep her hands to herself. “And that’s the whole point. Don’t try to turn her into… well, _you_.” Erik raises his brows and gazes at her questioningly. “Janos and Fedya have no family at all. You and I, we gave up what family we had. Raven, she’s-- She's different. She’s not _broken_. Maybe she is a golden princess, not sayin’ otherwise,” and success, Magneto chuckles, “but she still has hope. She believes she doesn’t have to sacrifice people she loves to do what she wants.”

“And your point is…?”

“Don’t try and force her,” Angel shrugs. “If she’s naïve, she’ll learn that lesson all on her own. If she manages it, good for her. But don’t take that belief away from her. It’s good to have at least one person who actually has somewhere to go back to.”

Raven shuts herself in her assigned room and doesn’t emerge until late at night when she sneaks out to the garden and disappears in a puff of red, sulfuric smoke. Erik doesn’t say a word and Angel gives him thumbs up.

Then she leaves as well.

***

Azazel drops her off just on the side of the road leading to the mansion. There was no problem in him dropping her off in the mansion’s hall, as he reminded her twice before they took off, but Raven politely declined that offer. It wasn’t snowing _that bad_ and she always did like walking. That was the official reason. In reality, though – no matter how genuinely nice and charming Azazel could be if he wanted to – Raven felt uneasy when thinking about actually bringing the teleporter into her home. He could do it any second, but by some unwritten agreement, she and Erik trusted Azazel not to ever overstep the boundaries that way.

“Come and pick me up in three?” she asks and Azazel nods in agreement before puffing out of existence right in front of her. Raven pulls her cap deeper on her head, makes sure that the wrapped present is safely secured under her coat and starts walking towards the mansion. She really did always love that, the part when she and Charles used to walk around the ground of Breakstone Park for hours. The garden is unkempt after all the years of no one living in the house, but is breathtakingly beautiful while covered in a thick layer of brilliantly white snow.

It’s well past midnight – which means she gets to _literally_ go home for Christmas – when she sneaks into the house through one of the back entrances that were once used by Mother’s servants. She tries to make as little noise as possible; it is her home, but she’s not sure of the reactions her appearance might provoke. And there was a CIA agent as well as a borderline homicidal maniac on the grounds. And, of course, Hank. Raven tip-toes through the kitchen and into the main corridor and manages to get to the east wing unnoticed. She stops in front of the last door on the right and takes a deep breath.

Charles was released from the hospital Azazel had brought him to over a month ago, but this was going to be the first time she saw him after Cuba. No, not true; the first time they saw _each other_ after Cuba. Erik has spent several nights by Charles’ side – Azazel always brought him long after the visiting hours had ended and the chances of running into Alex or Sean or Moira were none – but stopped after he learnt of the true nature of the injury. That was the same day Raven has spent the whole night crying in an uncomfortable chair next to her brother’s bed. Sean was the one to find her curled and asleep; he squeezed her arm and gave her a cup of lukewarm coffee and said, _thank you for coming_.

She wonders if Sean ever told Charles that she was there.

She pushes the door open and gets inside. This guest master bedroom is much bigger than Charles’ old room upstairs, but it’s also much less _Charles_ , at least for now. She can already see the changes he’s made, though: there’s his heavy oak desk near the window and the cabinets that previously housed Mother’s old, useless and _ugly_ trinkets are now filled with books. Mostly fiction, but there are also several shelves with his old coursebooks. She smiles when she sees a framed Oxford picture of the two of them, standing on the edge of the desk; then she quietly moves to the other end of the room where in a small alcove the giant mahogany bed is standing. She stops at the foot of the bed and grips the wooden frame tightly. Charles looks so small and pale against the deep burgundy of the heavy covers and suddenly she’s reminded of the way he looked after the fire, burnt, scarred and in terrible pain. There’s little pain this time – or that’s what she’s heard the doctors in Presbyterian say – and it’s both better and infinitely worse.

She puts her gift on a bedside table on Charles’ side, then moves around to get onto the bed next to him. She lays on the covers and tries to scoot as close as possible without actually touching him. She used to do that when they were younger, when the nightmares filled with the laughter of a brownish-red-eyed man became too much. She would then pillow her head on her hands and would talk and think sweet nonsense at Charles until he relaxed enough for her to trade her fingers through his brown curls.

“I miss you,” she says quietly. “Everyday I have so many things to tell you and I can’t, and after some time I can’t remember why I’ve ever thought them funny or important in the first place. I miss talking to you. I miss you so terribly, Charles, you have no idea.”

She reaches out to touch his clothed arm. Charles stirs, but doesn’t wake up.

“Azazel promised to teach me to fight properly. He says it’s like a dance and you’ve always told me I was a good dancer, so I think I’ll do alright.” She chuckles. “I’m trying to learn his real name. Angel and Riptide know it, but they won’t tell me. It’s like some secret that is only shared with those who are worthy.”

She moves her hand and rest it at the top of his head, lightly, not putting any pressure. Charles’ breath is deep and even.

“I don’t care what Erik thinks,” she says as she sinks her hand in Charles’ hair, strokes it languidly. “Maybe I am a sentimental fool, but this is Christmas and you are my big brother. You will always be my big brother and I will always miss you most on Christmas.”

“Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep,” Charles murmurs sleepily. Raven presses her cheek to his slightly bony shoulder. He’s lost weight since October, not a small amount, and it worries her.

“Try me,” she challenges and she can almost _hear_ him smile. “I promised you a great many things, Charles, but this one promise I’ll keep. You’ll see.” He covers her hand with his pale, bony one. “And just wait till one Christmas I bring Erik too.”

“It shall be the best Christmas in the history of Christmas.”

She moves even closer so she’s half lying on his chest. She puts her chin right over his heart and Charles smiles fondly, lifts his hand and rests it on the nape of her neck in a loving, comforting manner.

“I’ve brought you a present,” she says and Charles’ bright blue eyes lighten up. She straightens a bit, reaches out and takes the small package. She lays it aside and helps Charles settle against the headboard before taking the present again and dropping it onto his lap. She rolls off him and sits cross-legged on the bed, observing as he carefully unwraps the boring brown paper. She bites her lip. Before, she was so sure of her choice, but now she’s starting to have doubts. And what if Charles doesn’t appreciate that old silly book anymore? It used to be his favourite when they were growing up, but they _did_ grow up and maybe he doesn’t love it as much as he once did.

“ _Orgullo y Prejuicio_ ,” he reads out and Raven’s sure that Angel would kill him for butchering the language of her ancestors. Charles’ eyes widen. “ _Pride and Prejudice_?” he asks. “In Spanish?”

Raven shrugs.

“I thought about your little collection,” she answers. “I mean, you already have the French edition we’ve bought in Calais and the Danish one from Amy. And it’s not like you know any of those languages. So I thought that you could just start collecting them. The same book in all the languages imaginable.”

“That would look nice on a display,” Charles admits and Raven beams.

“See? You could ask all your friends to buy one for you on all their journeys abroad. And I’ll make sure to always bring you a new one from everywhere we go.”

Charles’ smile drops a little and he puts the book back on the table.

“You’re not here to stay?”

She takes his hands and squeezes them, tries to convey as much love with that simple gesture as she can.

“Azazel will be back for me in two hours,” she says instead of confirming outright. Charles brings her hands up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. _You’re beautiful_ , he silently says, and, _I missed you too_. He’s getting better at communicating, and it still seems light-years away, but one day they’ll be very good at it. She’s sure that will be the day when she comes back home for good.

“Before you go--," Charles hesitates for a split second, “sing to me?”

It’s a tradition she introduced him to and forced him into, starting with the very first Christmas they’ve spent together in the mansion. Before Raven, Charles has never celebrated Christmas properly. Mother had no trouble believing in aliens, monsters and people with extraordinary powers, but religion seemed to be beyond her grasp. Kurt was a proud atheist and Charles’ father, while still alive, was an Anglican who just couldn’t bother. That very first Christmas, Raven insisted on a big tree in the dining room – not a pathetic little _thing_ that Mother used to tell the gardener to bring just to get Charles out of her hair – and told Charles of all the traditions and all the carols that she’d learnt as the Reverend Darkholme’s daughter. Charles not only hadn’t objected to anything she came up with, he seemed to genuinely enjoy every new thing she’d insisted they do every year now. But the singing, he loved that the most. They’d sing his favourite carol right before dinner, every year, including Oxford and including the peak of Kurt’s reign.

Before Raven, Charles has never sung Christmas carols.

“Convinced you won’t be able to get Sean to do it for you?” Raven laughs and Charles grins. It’s weak and unconvincing, but he tries and she appreciates the effort. “Fine. But only if you read to me later.”

“Deal.”

She settles comfortably on her heels, Charles’ hands clasped securely in her own.

“God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…” she sings softly and thinks that, for the first time in years, she won’t get to sing it before dinner. That she won’t even have a Christmas dinner to start with.

Charles smiles at her the whole time and after she finishes, he has her bring the oldest and most used book from the top shelf. She settles in his embrace and listens to his soft, accented voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…”

***

Janos, when he wants to, is really good at cooking. Not as good as Magneto – and they’ve learnt that after Raven threatened him into the kitchen and into making some fancy Italian dish for them – but good enough to entrust him with a Christmas chicken. He makes a face when she hands him the bird, and Angel smacks him hard, yelling that getting a turkey was virtually impossible in this town and that he should be fucking grateful that she’s doing this at all. Riptide has no one to turn to; Raven came back in the morning, more miserable than she was before she left for Westchester, and immediately left for a “quick walk on the beach” and has been gone since. Around noon – after Angel left to obtain the Christmas dinner for them – Magneto and Azazel puffed out somewhere, together, and still haven’t come back. Angel’s sure that both men are not going to be back before New Year, not with the overall mood in the estate.

Which is a fucking shame, because Angel has something for Erik too.

Janos is still complaining about stuffing a chicken when a crack in the drawing room signalizes Azazel’s return. Angel quickly moves to the other room and stops dead in her track. She takes a moment to absorb everything that’s going on, takes a deep breath and then continues on her path towards Erik.

“Can you manage on your own for a sec?” she asks the teleporter who nods. She nods back, grabs Magneto’s frozen shirtsleeve and drags him to another room.

“You’re hopeless, daddy-o,” she says with a mischievous smile and he shrugs. Hell. Janos has already told her that, all things considered, Erik was a thousand times better boss than Shaw. Now his opinion was only going to grow. “You deserve a special treat.”

Erik frowns and observes her curiously as she hands him a heavy bag. He peaks inside and pales. That wasn’t exactly the reaction she’s been hoping for.

“I got it on the market,” she explains. “Nothing fancy. It’s actually rusty and I’m sure I paid more than it’s worth, but what the hell. I want you to be happy, just this once. After all, you _are_ trying to make _us_ happy, don’t even try to deny that, there’s proof saying otherwise standing in the drawing room.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know--"

“It’s going to be four candles today,” Angel says with a grin. “I checked.”

Erik takes the chanukiyah out of the bag and sets it on the table. He looks at it and circles it as if it were a wild animal ready to attack and bite any given second. Angel doesn’t know much about him, but she knows enough and even if he currently thinks she’s meddling in business that’s not her own, tough. She’ll accept his gratitude later. She leaves the room and goes back to the kitchen to torment Janos some more, gives her fearless leader all the space he needs.

Raven comes back several hours later. The chicken is already done and Azazel and, surprisingly, Erik have made a decent job in the drawing room. Raven enters the room where everyone is waiting and gapes, rendered speechless for a change.

“Please don’t tell me you’re unhappy,” Erik says moodily. “We’ve brought this tree especially for you.”

“It’s a proper spruce,” Raven notes.

“Yes, and we’ve almost frozen to death to get it. You have _no idea_ how cold Siberia is this time of year.”

“You’re brought and decorated a spruce.” Magneto nods and Azazel wags his tail, suddenly embarrassed. “How do you even know how to do that?”

“I’m thirty-two,” Magneto answers as if that explained everything. “Also, my father might or might not have been a Luteran who converted.”

“You got me a Christmas tree.”

“And also a chicken,” Angel adds. “But it’s not all about you, _chica_. It’s the holiday season, for all of us. You just happened to demand we do something about it.”

Raven legitimately tears up at that and runs to hug everyone, Erik included. Magneto sort of pats her on the shoulder awkwardly before she moves to squeeze life out of Angel.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Angel kisses her cheek. “It’s brilliant. Different than at home, but brilliant.”

“Worse?” Erik inquires. Raven shakes her head fondly.

“Not better or worse. Different means exactly that – different.”

Angel smiles. For the moment, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "The Once and the Future King" is canonically Charles' favourite book, but I decided to run with "Pride and Prejudice" for several reasons: a) "The Once and the Future King" is something that Charles shares with Erik and I wanted Charles and Raven have something special too, b) "TOatFK" was published as a whole in 1958 and therefore I'm sure Charles had to have at least one other favourite book before that, c) "P&P" and Austen in general make Charles seem positively English and romantic, d) I think "P&P" suits the situation perfectly  
> \- since the movie!verse is at least PRETENDING to have something resembling probability, I'd bet that Azazel is not really an inter-dimensional demon trapped on Earth but a regular mutant insted; ergo, he needs a name. I chose Fyodor for very selfish reasons.  
> \- Merry Christmas to everyone actually reading this!


End file.
